


Secrets Don’t Make Friends

by whatever_you_want



Series: Little Bird, Finding Home [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, American Sign Language, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Bed-Wetting, Classification!AU, Clint Barton-centric, Diapers, Fake Technology, Fluff, Happy Ending, Incontinence, Mentions of Discipline, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self Confidence Issues, Wetting, deaf!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatever_you_want/pseuds/whatever_you_want
Summary: Classification!AUClint is a Little and tries to keep his class a secret from as much of the team as possible. When that secret is outed, everyone has to adjust to the littlest Avenger.(and honestly, no one really minds)





	1. Competence and Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever time posting anything like this and I’m a little nervous but hopefully people will like it! It’s a Classification!au which is explained some in the story but also below: 
> 
> Essentially you have Dominants/Submissives, Caretakers/Littles and Neutrals. 
> 
> So if any of those things don’t really appeal to you this is definitely not a story will you enjoy. 
> 
> But if those things DO interest you, hopefully you will :)
> 
> note: unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own

Clint’s entire body thrummed with dull aching but it was the kind of ache that felt good because he had done his job well and SHIELD had taken the culprits into custody. 

Inhumans were beginning to be a problem and the worry wrinkle on Phil’s forehead made that clear. Clint rested his head back against the quinjet seat and immediately warm brown eyes found his asking quietly if he was okay. He gave Phil a tight lipped smile: I’m alive and don’t I know it. 

“Steve, can I have the med-kit please?”

Clint rolled his eyes to himself because he knew that Phil was going to start bandaging him up. They were little cuts from a falling through the skylight at the jewelry store; thankful that thick glass cubed rather than shattered and really it wasn’t that high up from the ground. Clint knew how to brace his body for impact, it had been a gut reaction no thought needed.

Steve of course obeyed Coulson, fretting quietly from across the jet. Sometimes Clint was curious how Steve dealt with himself: a caretaker with no one to care for, save Clint on the blue moon that Phil simply could not be there. Steve always jumped on those chances and it didn’t feel strange. He wasn’t Captain America so much as he was just ‘Steve’ when Clint was Little. But those moments where he cared for Clint were still far and few between. Clint saw it sometimes, especially in his mother hen nature with the team.

Phil dabbed at one of the cuts and Clint hissed through his teeth. “I know, little bird.” 

Phil’s voice was low and personal. Clint’s class wasn’t a secret exactly but he wasn’t ready for anyone else to know. He hadn’t been ready since it was made official three years ago. Clint sometimes thought he’d never be ready. He had wanted to be Neutral like Nat or even a Dominant like Nick, though he knew that wasn’t likely — he wasn’t nearly assertive enough. He wouldn’t have minded being a Submissive like Deputy Director Hill but no, he got the ‘rare’ class. The one most difficult to deal with and manage because at times his biology consumed him. 

Clint watched Phil smooth on a bandaid, flesh toned and dull unlike the ones at home that were neon or the ones that had arrows on them or the ones with shields or iron man or spiders —- Clint got hurt a lot so they had quite the bandaid collection. Once more Phil leveled him The Look, checking to see if Clint had regressed at all. He wasn’t due, not for at least a week but stress and injuries threw off the tentative biological schedule he had. 

“This is the fifth time with Inhumans,” Natasha commented. 

She knew but only because she knew everything. Clint hadn’t been sure how she’d respond; she was friends with him when he was Big and friendly enough when he was little. Clint wondered if it had to do with the vast change or if it bothered her that she had been taken down by someone like him. He didn’t dwell on it long, it would just make him paranoid.

“Yes, we’re well aware of that.” Phil seemed content that Clint was big enough and sat back rubbing the bridge of his nose. “There might be a secondary organization we aren’t aware of. They’ll interrogate the ones captured today and see what we bring up.”

Clint rested his head back again. He was tired but it had been a long fight. He was itching to close his eyes and let sleep tide over him but he didn’t have any blankets or protection in case… 

He looked out the window at wispy clouds and blue skies. A decent day, it appeared. Maybe he could convince Phil to come home early and they could go to that outdoor diner place that they liked.

He knew it wasn’t likely but he would try anyway. The relationship between a Caregiver and their Little was unique, especially when the Little was Big. They were more than friends but Phil wasn’t ‘Daddy’ in those moments, more than a roommate, he was...a platonic partner? They weren’t lovers. Clint never had any sexual urges and neither did Phil, another quirk of their biology. 

Although at home the lines between Big and Little were blurred. Clint was given directions and that was fine. ‘Bedtime’ when he was Little became ‘we’ve got to be up at so-and-so time, let’s get ready’ when he was Big. ‘Bathtime’ when he was Little became ‘why don’t you shower while I get dinner together’ when he was Big. 

But cuddles were the same, the way that Phil helped him brush his teeth and hair even though he was Big enough to do so himself, how he wrapped him up with a hug when they settled to watch nightly TV and even the casual way he’d pat’s Clint’s behind to ensure he had put on a pull up before they went to bed. Any resistance Clint felt initially had vanished under the doting ways of his Daddy, his Phil, his Caretaker and his handler.

Little Clint had his own room but Big Clint slept in the same bed as Phil. It was completely platonic and in a way Phil replaced Blanket and Chirp even though Clint was certain he didn’t need them. Sometimes they found their way into Phil’s bed however and Phil never complained about the scrap of questionably clean fabric that really, really, really needed to see the inside of the washer some day. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Tony said glowering at a blue hologram of Pepper that had appeared suddenly. “That isn’t what I said.”

“I have the recording right here! You can’t tell someone we won’t hire them because of their class — what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Okay, first, I didn’t say those exact words. And second, how about a ‘hey Tony, how are you? I’m so happy you survived saving the world again’.” 

Clint ran his fingers over the bandaid. It was where his glove would have sat so that meant a tear. He’d have to have Phil help him get a new pair. Reading and writing was difficult for him even when Big and Phil now chalked it up being a byproduct of his biology. It seemed Littles got the raw end of the deal there. Smaller than normal, asexual by nature, questionable continence even when Big, attention difficulties at times, higher percentages of learning and speech disorders… 

Maybe never completely growing up was a dream for some but Clint just wanted to feel competent and usually he did but sometimes...it was hard. Sometimes he felt okay with his class and in his skin. Sometimes being a Little felt like a curse that never stopped screwing him over. 

“I’m not doing this with you Tony.” 

Pepper was a Neutral, oddly enough. Clint thought she’d have been a Dom the way she handled the Stark Industries and Stark himself. Neutrals had the funny ability to adapt to their partners and she and Tony had been together for a while. It seemed that Pepper was more in control than he was but like Clint and Phil, their personal lives were probably just that: personal. 

“I’m hiring her.” Pepper said firmly.

“No you’re not. Not for that position Pepper. I’m sorry but it’s idiotic and she’s a liability.”

“Tony — ”

“No. I can’t have a six year old working in an unstable lab environment. It’s dangerous for her and for my team.”

Clint felt winded and he wondered if he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. In all his time on the Initiative the topic of Littles had only come up a few times and it was always Tony or Nat or Bruce asking Steve if he’d found anyone yet. 

“She’s a twenty seven year old woman with her PhD in experimental physics and biology. She’s a genius,” Pepper sounded peeved. “I interviewed her myself.”

Tony scoffed. “Twenty seven sometimes but naturally she’s six. I don’t feel comfortable making that risk — the board will not be comfortable making that risk.” Tony replied.“She’d be great on a research team. I’ll find her a spot.”

“It’s discrimination.”

“No, it’s a competency concern. If she doesn’t want to work for Stark Industries in a research position, fine. She can try her luck elsewhere.”

When Clint closed his eyes he could feel the soft fur of Chirp against cheek and he worried he would regress. This was another unfortunate side effect of his class — being treated like he was Little all the time. Clint closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Tony wasn’t talking about him, he wasn’t being mean on purpose.

Tony and Pepper argued: Tony didn’t want her working in the lab and Pepper thought it was fine.

Phil sensed Clint’s upset and squeezed his knee. Clint shifted away immediately. He didn’t want to be babied, especially not now because it would tip him over an edge he could go over right now. Tony, as expected, lost the argument. 

“Fine! You know what, Pepp? Why you don’t call the press release and let them know that Stark Industries is now apparently in the daycare business.”

Pepper hung up and Tony fumed silently for all of two minutes before looking at Steve. 

“You can’t tell me that you think it’s okay to have a Little in a lab setting.”

Steve’s class was public knowledge; all the Captain America documentaries said he took America as his Little, to care for and nurture. He rubbed the back of neck and Clint felt his eyes on him for a second but it felt like a second too long and all too exposing. His breath hitched a bit.

Did he agree? Did he think Clint was a liability? 

“I’m not her Caretaker so I wouldn’t be qualified to make that choice.” Steve finally said, “But she sounds like a very smart girl.”

“Woman,” Natasha said and Clint was inclined to agree. 

They were talking about her as a Big not a Little and it was important to recognize that.

“Exactly,” Steve nodded his head. “Littles aren’t always little, Tony.”

“What do you mean? I’m always Neutral, you’re always a Caretaker — Classifications are drawn into your DNA.” Tony shook his head. “I’m not being discriminatory and I don’t doubt how smart she is. I wouldn’t give a six year old control of the suit the same way I wouldn’t put a gun in their hands or let them play with toxic materials. Imagine...imagine you get a Little, Steve, and they said ‘hey I wanna be a field agent’. Are you going to allow that?”

Clint wasn’t sure which bothered him more: the mocking parody a Little voice or how personal this was. Tony was completely unaware of course and Clint tried to remind himself of that. “It depends on the Little.” Steve said firmly. “I’m sorry Tony but you, as a Neutral, are not qualified to decide on the competency of her.”

“Then I should arrange a meeting with the Caretaker then?” Tony asked. 

“Uh… I think you should talk with the Little first, before you go behind her back.” Steve was looking toward Phil now. 

Clint wasn’t sure if Tony knew that Phil was a Caretaker or not and this was not good. How long until Tony found out and hated him? 

He felt so tired suddenly and achy too. He wanted Tylenol and a nap — but he also wanted the ducky cold pack and cuddles while Daddy read to him. 

Mostly he wanted Tony to stop talking. 

“There’s no way to win with their kind.”

“What do you mean, their kind?” Phil demanded coldly.

Clint looked sharply at Phil and Tony turned his eyes toward the handler as well. 

“I mean Littles, Agent Agent. There’s not way to win, no way to appease them because logic rarely works on children. They want to be treated like adults but cannot maintain adult responsibilities full time. That why Caretakers exist — so why is it so wrong to speak to a Caretaker rather than to the Little?” 

Maybe Tony was trying to learn, maybe he was sensing the defensiveness and he was overcompensating or maybe Clint was being over sensitive. Either way he felt itchy and squirmy under the pressure. 

“It’s a conversation to be had with both of them. If you have concerns she seems responsible enough to address them.” Phil had his no-nonsense tone and that within itself made Clint’s eyes mist over. Even though he knew Daddy — Phil — wasn’t mad at him, he couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. “But ‘their kind’ is not really an appropriate way to say it.”

Tony looked at him a moment and it seemed to click. “Holy shit, you’re a Caretaker aren’t you?” Tony grinned. “Look at that, two on one team. Now I get why they stuck you as my babysitter before. Fine, you’re right. I’ll give her a trial run.”

“That seems fair,” Phil nodded his head slightly in approval.

Caretakers had their own quirks like that. They tended to lecture and to fret regardless on the other Classes regardless. It was quiet for a moment and Clint ran his fingers along the bland band aid. His pulse was still rabbiting a bit but he felt more grounded and secure in his headspace. 

“So do you have one?” 

“I’m sorry?” Phil was looking at his phone, probably communicating with Hill or Fury about the Inhumans now the political discussion was over.

“A Little,” Tony said impatiently. “I imagine we’ve seen it if you did?”

“Them,” Steve sounded annoyed and a bit sharp. “You do realize Littles are people, right Tony?”

“Of course I do!” Tony looked annoyed at the suggestion. “But they’re super rare anyway right?”

Phil inclined his head. “Caretakers and Littles makeup about 32% of the total population in the developed world. We’re unsure of the populations in other parts but I imagine they aren’t too different.”

“Do you have one?” Tony asked again, looking curious and perhaps a bit devious.

Clint didn’t know what he wanted Phil to say. Little Clint wanted to be hugged and claimed proudly and for Daddy to tell everyone he was a good boy because he was usually; Big Clint was concerned with this position and the respect he would lose if it was out and wanted Phil to lie. Little Clint knew that Daddy would never to lie to him but he would lie to protect him and that sometimes meant not telling him everything. Big Clint knew that Phil lied with ease to everyone because information put people at risk, Clint included. 

“My personal life is not something I’m comfortable sharing at this time.”

Tony made an exasperated noise. 

“Clint.” He felt cold and scared and alone all at once despite the fact he was surrounded by people. “He’s your handler, did you know?”

“Did I know what?” 

Tony’s brows drew together as if tried to figure if Clint was messing with him. “That your Handler is a Caretaker, Barton. Jesus, did you get concussed on your tumble through the ceiling?” 

“Oh uh, yeah… I mean, I don’t gotta concussion or nothin’...” Clint could hear that his voice was getting smaller and he felt Phil’s eyes on him once more. “I knew, Stark. Yeah.”

Tony watched him a moment longer and then shook his head. “I think you may have a concussion there, buddy. Also, your floor at the Tower? Ever plan on moving out of that shithole at SHIELD — no offense, of course Coulson.”

Clint’s handler smiled. “Of course not, Mr. Stark.”

Clint made a stalling sound. “I, uh, soon?”

“Romanoff is all moved in already,” Tony, always the one to turn up the heat added. “So the entire team is there now, except you and our dearest handler. And I built this awesome range no one is using — ”

“Range?”

Tony grinned. “I have all these trick arrows I’ve been dying for someone to test out but you’re never around so, should you get sick of the subpar equipment SHIELD gives you and you want to try patented Stark technology, your apartment awaits.”

It was tempting but… Home was Phil’s apartment. It had been for the past three years. The Tower sounded fun but Home sounded better. 

“Thanks Tony, I’ll keep it in mind.” 

[oOoOo]

Clint waited until he was stuck on his paperwork to bring up the earlier conversation.

“Hey, Phil?”

He paused the email or document had been rapidly typing out to give Clint his full attention. He really liked that about Phil, how attentive he was and how despite the world depending on him he would set aside any task to make sure Clint was okay. He hated to ask for things whether he was Big or Little and that stemmed from his less than ideal bring up. 

“Need some help, little bird?”

“Please.” 

Manners were important even though both Big Clint and Little Clint forgot sometimes. Phil was patient with them both and most importantly he never got mad at Clint, just upset about what he was doing. That didn’t apply when Clint needed help though, Phil always explained. He would never be upset that Clint needed assistance with anything at all and he insisted he loved to help. Clint knew, when he was Big, that it was as much a part of his biology as anything Clint did so that need to help was not him being overbearing or trying to show Clint to be incompetent.

Phil cleared space on the desk and started to move the chair over so Clint could bring his own chair around. For some reason it made Clint’s ribcage ache and he wanted to be hugged. Sometimes he was Big but had Little urges and he didn’t like it much. He stalled for a moment, picking up the tablet and letting it weigh in his hands. 

Clint really hated asking for things, especially things that were out of the norm for them. Clint was Big at work or at least he kept to a bigger headspace to protect his class from becoming public knowledge. 

“Clint, are you okay?”

It was such a superficial thing, he told himself angrily. And since when did he care what Stark thought anyway? He was nice enough to him and that wouldn’t change because he found out he was… Clint nodded his head sullenly fully aware it was obvious he wasn’t okay. Phil hummed knowingly and tapped his finger against the desk gently to get him to look up. “How about we finish this up and then go and get some sorbet?”

“Ice cream,” Clint protested immediately, “please?”

“Okay, little bird, ice cream it is.” 

Clint pulled the chair around, right beside Phil’s and set the tablet down in front of them before he leaned heavily against Phil, headbutting in an attempt trying to wedge under his arm until he understood and pulled Clint close. It was uncomfortable with the chair arm pushing into his ribs but the embrace was warm and tender and Clint could close his eyes and stop worrying for a moment. 

Faintly he could hear Phil prodding at him for answers. If Clint was incapable of doing his own reports Phil took care of them but he tried to keep Clint’s ‘tone’ in it. The nature of their relationship wasn’t a secret to Fury and it had been a necessity to keep Clint in position. The fact he and Phil connected so deeply was a perk no one had anticipated but had hoped for. 

Later that night after dinner was cleaned up and Clint was washing the counters while Phil did the dishes he plucked up the courage to ask him about what he thought about what Tony had said. 

Phil gave him The Look, checking his headspace before he replied with candor: “Tony is a brilliant man but he’s also a Neutral which makes him an impasse when it comes to many things.”

Clint bobbed head as if that made sense to him. Really he wanted to ask Daddy if Tony would still be his friend if he found out — if, because Little Clint wasn’t the same realist that Big Clint was. Phil took off the gloves and laid them over the edge of the sink to dry. 

“What I mean is sometimes intellectual intelligence isn’t the same as emotional intelligence. He understands facts and statistics better than he understands how things make other feel because it is not tangible.” Phil paused a moment and Clint wondered if he looked as lost as he felt. “He doesn’t think poorly of Littles, he just doesn’t know he’s met one so he’s based his opinion off facts.”

Clint looked down. “I gotta tell him at some point.”

“Possibly,” Phil agreed. “But there’s no rush, Clint. Not until you’re ready.”

Clint heaved in a deep breath. “Yeah okay.” 

“I’m not much in the mood for TV tonight, are you?” Phil smiled brightly and despite everything Clint had weighing on his mind he could feel his shoulders lifting.

He was fairly certain Phil would read more of ‘His Dark Materials’ to him tonight which was too old for Little Clint and too hard to read on his own when he was Big. “Nope.”

“How about you take a shower while I finish up some work stuff and I’ll come brush my teeth with you in say, fifteen minutes?”

Clint didn’t need help to do any of these things but it was nice to have it anyway, even when he was capable of doing it all those things and had done them plenty prior to being Classified. He made quick work of the shower so he could just stand under the hot water. It was wasteful and he knew it but it felt nice and for a long time Clint didn’t do anything simply because it felt nice. 

Phil didn’t mind so long as he was out within fifteen minutes which was ten minutes longer than necessary. Clint tried to mop up the water that dripped on the floor; he was meant to stand on the squishy purple memory foam bath mat when he got out of the shower but the warm water felt nice and sometimes Clint’s body didn’t care how Big or Little he was. Urges hit him with immediate urgency and he while tinkling in the shower wasn’t a big deal (he still should tell Phil so they could disinfect it) he had to go as well. He had tracked water all the way to toilet and then back again to the mat. Another thing to hate about the class he was. 

He noticed his pile of clothing and remembered, belatedly, that they were supposed to be put in the hamper. So he gathered up the articles and pushed them into the hamper as the door opened. 

Clint realized he hadn’t finished mopping up the water or drying himself or flushing the toilet or even the most basic of tasks, wiping, because his hands were wet from the shower. The toilet finished flushing and Clint stood awkwardly beside it. 

Phil glanced around the bathroom — it wasn’t destroyed by any means which Phil could appreciate considering the strange headspace Clint was in. 

Water on the floor going to the toilet which told him that Clint had to go potty either during or immediately after the shower and couldn’t dry himself off first. 

“Did you wipe?” 

Frank questions embarrassed Clint but he was always honest. Whenever Phil tried softer approaches ‘do you need any help getting clean’ Clint would claim he’d be fine and another pair of underpants would perish. Clint frowned down at the floor. “Not yet. My hands are wet.”

“I see that. Your whole body is wet, little bird.” Phil grabbed the fluffy purple towel gestured for Clint to come stand on the bathmat. “Let’s get you dry and clean, yes?”

Clint, ultimately ashamed regardless of if this was his own wrongdoing or his Biology sticking it to him, nodded his head as he shuffled over. Phil went under the sink for the wet wipes and Clint tried his best not to look at the package of ‘protective pants’ that were really just pull-ups for Littles. Phil made quick work of it, no fuss no muss and Clint was tasked with picking out a pull up while Phil washed his hands. There were the ‘fun’ ones for when he was Little but he was Big so he chose the plain clinical ones that made him feel… Incompetent but Big. He quickly shimmied into his pajamas and Phil dried and combed his hair. It would have felt nice if he wasn’t thinking about the accident. 

“I peed in the shower.” He said as Phil was removing his aids so he could clean them and his ears. 

He was grateful he didn’t have to hear the pitying tone in Phil’s voice. He could read lips well enough and he knew what he was saying: ‘it’s okay...happens...clean it up...thank you...me.’ Clint looked away. No matter what Phil said or the doctors said it didn’t make it any less shameful. He should have more than a second’s notice before he needed the bathroom. It wasn’t fair. 

Phil cleaned his ears and aids very carefully and then held out Clint’s toothbrush, dab of cool mint toothpaste already on it. His mouth fell open and Phil with careful tenderness brushed his teeth. After he was down swishing around the mouthwash the aids had been in the cleaning solution long enough. Phil dabbed them dry and sound returned to the world. 

“Okay, little bird?”

Clint nodded his head glancing toward the shower. He should have cleaned it himself. “It’s okay Clint, I know you can’t help it.”

Clint’s face colored and he glared at the floor. “But I want to be able to help it.”

He had an okay handle on it at one point. When he was Big his control was there. He made a minute or two of warning. Now he had mere seconds when Big and that wasn’t okay. Phil frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry you’re so upset, little bird. Would it help if I remind you to use the potty more often?”

The pessimistic part of Clint told him it didn’t matter and it wouldn’t make a difference and that he was wasting Phil’s time. Little Clint was thrilled at an opportunity to prove how big he could be. “Yes please!”

Phil smiled and then reminded him, “Inside voice, Clint. We may be able to get through an entire chapter tonight.” 

Clint got into bed and found his phone already plugged in and charging. He reached for and checked his messages. Work stuff and a message from Nat with a cryptic ‘Okay?’ that may have been her checking in on Clint after the jet fiasco or in response to his last message. Clint sent a thumbs up and left it at that. 

“Electronics in bed?”

“Work stuff,” Clint defended and Phil rose a brow. “And Nat stuff.”

“The phone goes away if you want me to read to you.” Phil had changed into sweats and tee shirt. Before his handler became his Caretaker seeing him in anything other than a pressed suit had made him question everything he knew. Now it was normal; more than normal actually — it felt like Home. 

“Away,” Clint made a point to put in the bedside drawer and gave Phil his brightest smile. 

Phil pulled out the thick hardback book and opened to the last page they left off on. It was slow going because they were so busy. Usually Clint got a few pages at a time and that was plenty, really. He remembered his mom reading to him when he was a kid. They were rare occurrences and his mother was always smoking during it. Phil kept his arms around him while he read, voice low and smooth and steady. He never stumbled over words and when he turned the page he would kiss Clint’s hairline. 

Clint felt the day’s strain pulling at him but he resisted falling asleep because he wanted to savor the time with Phil and he really wanted to finish the chapter. “I think,” Phil said quietly and Clint’s eyes snapped open. “I’m pretty beat Clint. We can pick it back up tomorrow?”

“But the chapter,” Clint stifled his yawn poorly and looked down fully aware he’d been caught. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” agreed Phil. “Go to the bathroom before we turn out the lights please.”

Clint opened his mouth argue — he didn’t have to go and he was tired — but remembered he had asked for this. He shuffled down the hallway and stood stupidly in front of the toilet for a minute before surmising his bladder was indeed spent from the shower. He washed his hands and crawled back beside Phil who was waiting with a bright smile. “Didn’t have to go,” Clint mumbled into the pillow. “I dunno why it happened earlier.”

“Oh well, let’s not worry about it. It’s late — do you want Chirp?”

Clint’s nose scrunched up even though he knew Phil couldn’t see him. That wasn’t a fair question because Clint always wanted Chirp. He flopped over and looked up at Phil who was waiting for an answer. Warm, unwavering affection and care softened his features and Clint wondered why people thought he was robotic. 

“I guess.” Phil immediately rose, corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. In a weary state the lines between Big and Little blurred even more. “Blanket?”

He paused in the doorway. “I thought Blanket liked your bed?” 

“Right but… Chirp keeps Blanket company and since Chirp is coming…” Clint’s face felt hot. Somehow when he was Little it all made sense but even though he was Big, he couldn’t shake that understanding. “Blanket’s gotta come too.”

Phil nodded his head. “Okay, Chirp and Blanket; anything else?” 

Clint shook his head and soon he had the scrap of fabric tucked under his chin, Chirp pressed against chest. The room was dark, there was no night light, but that was fine because he wiggled over until his back was flush with Phil’s warmth and Phil’s arms caged around him. “‘Night,” Clint mumbled already drifting off.

“Goodnight, Clint.”

Clint closed his eyes. “...love you,” he mumbled, almost too late. 

“I love you too, my little bird.” Clint felt Phil kissed the top of his head and carefully took out his aids because Clint had forgotten. 

It was quiet but that was okay because Clint could feel the warmth of Phil and feel his heartbeat. Clint was safe


	2. An Accident and An Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint doesn’t lose things...he just misplaces them. Natasha does her best to help. Phil doesn’t realize the signs and Clint gets in some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the feedback I’ve gotten so far! It really spurred me on to write. I can’t thank those commented and gave kudos enough for their kindness and I hope you enjoy this next part.

Clint was distractible when not hyper focused and that was just as much a part of him as his superb sniping skills. 

He never missed but sometimes he misplaced things. Actually he misplaced things frequently and any free time he could possible have found on base was spent tracking down said items. Usually they were little things: his work phone, his badge once or twice — but he hadn’t lost a gun before and that was kinda serious. 

“You’ve been in here twice in the past hour,” Natasha leaned back in the chair, feet kicked up on the desk. “And you and me both know that Barton and Paperwork don’t go together.”

“‘s my office too,” he muttered rubbing the back of his neck closing the desk drawer he had already been in. He was a bit frustrated at this point because he didn’t even remember taking it out of his holster today! “I’m just… Busy.”

“Busy,” echoed Natasha. “Busy not doing your job, you mean?”

Clint narrowed his eyes and thought of a witty remark but then sighed and admitted, “I forgot where I put something.”

Natasha gave him a very un-Natasha snort which left Clint feeling a bit flustered and hurt. So much for a supportive friend — so much for the stoic Black Widow too. 

“If you want my help, you just gotta ask — and do me a favor.” 

That was a very Natasha-like barter and Clint mentally ran through her current shit list. It wasn’t like they wreaked havoc at SHIELD regularly but agents had ways of fucking each other over and that meant payback was an IOU. 

“Fine,” Clint knew Phil was off base so it wasn’t like he’d get caught by his handler. “I misplaced my gun.”

“How the hell do you lose your sidearm, Barton?” 

Natasha arched a carefully plucked brow as she stood. She was beautiful and had Clint had those kinds of thoughts that night in Budapest would have gone very differently. But her standing was an intimidation move.

“It’s not lost. I just don’t remember the place in which I put it for safekeeping.” Clint clarified carefully and he sure as hell wasn't going to back down for her on this. 

She was testing him, seeing if he was going to regress and flake — checking to see if he was capable of whatever task she needed done.

Eventually, once satisfied with his ability to complete whatever task she had in mind, Natasha smirked and back back against the desk. 

“You go and make Stanford look like an idiot in front of his new recruits and I’ll find your gun.” Stanford had run lead on her last SHIELD op and he was a senior agent. Clint didn’t like messing around with people that far above him, they had a habit of bypassing payback and going right to his handler. “And I won’t tell Coulson about the misplaced gun.”

Phil was Clint’s Handler just as much as he was his caregiver and that didn’t mean he had any leeway when it came to punishing him. Of course it was different types of punishment — and punishments at home did not come to work and vice versa — but both were decidedly unpleasant and Phil always found out. 

“Nat,” Clint groaned, “He’s a senior agent. Phil is gonna kill me.”

“I’m not saying you go in there and cause an interruption just...show him up a little bit.” Natasha had a wicked grin on her face and her eyes held absolutely no give. Neutral his butt, that kind of unwavering force made her seem more like a Dominant. “I’d hurry or you’re gonna miss them.”

Clint had that twitchy sensation that came around when he was undercover and knew he was walking into a pit of danger or when he was Little and knew he wasn’t supposed to get marker on the table but when he rubbed the marker with his thumb it smeared all over the polished surface and it was like fingerpainting… 

A bad choice, he could hear Phil saying in a terse tone. It wasn’t angry because Phil never got angry, just disappointed. 

But losing his sidearm was kind of a big deal too. He grabbed his practice bow from under the desk he hardly ever used and gave Natasha a final glance. She inclined her head toward the door and Clint suppressed the urge to drag his feet. 

Stanford was in the range with a gaggle of new recruits who were wide-eyed and obviously intimidated. Clint was a Level 4 so he understood exactly what this exercise was — a skills evaluation for handlers to handpick their assets. He was glad he didn’t know that as a rookie but then again he had passed hands so frequently t didn’t matter much. Stanford was showing the proper stance and fired a round. After he brought the target forward and displayed the holes were cloistered neatly around the bullseye. 

The junior agents all murmured in admiration at his accuracy and Clint, who had purposely stayed out of sight, snorted.

It wasn’t overly obnoxious but it caught the attention of those closest and then it was a ripple effect. It was nice that his appearance had a novelty though it would wear off eventually. His codename was whispered a few times and Stanford finally noticed the lack of attention.

He was tall and well filled out with muscle. He tended to dress down despite his title and really, he was a decent guy. Clint had no qualms with him — but Natasha did and she was helping him.

“Agent Barton,” his voice was scolding, “I’m trying to teach.”

“I see that,” Clint walked through the crowd of new recruits and they parted in some sort of weird biblical way. “Damn, those are almost decent shots too. Nice.”

The whispers cut out as everyone looked wide eyed at the senior agent. Stanford seemed taken back for a moment and Clint could once again hear Phil’s voice. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it little bird?’ He felt twitchy again but buried the feelings with a good natured shoulder bump. 

“They’re pretty decent,” he extended the stilted compliment again and glanced at the junior agents. 

Stanford’s pride was clearly stinging because he drew himself up; he was already taller than Clint and the action made him want to hide. 

“Barton, haven’t you got something productive to do?”

“Practice?” He held up the bow with a shrug mentally begging Natasha to hurry up and find the gun. “Want some pointers?”

“Out of the range Barton — and don’t think I won’t be telling Handler Coulson about you wasting time and interrupting training.” 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Sure, blame me for your shoddy aim.”

A muscle twitched in Stanford’s jaw and his eyes burned in a ‘that’s a Write-Up Barton’ way. Clint held up his hands in mock defeat and walked to the door. The senior agent sounded agitated as he continued his talk on recoil calculations and Clint nocked and released the single arrow he’d snagged on his way down. It was one of the distraction ones that made an obnoxious whistling noise as it arched through the air, between the heads of unsuspecting junior agents and landed perfectly in the bullseye. 

For a moment all was still, everyone taking in the sheer impressive shot Clint had made. Then the realization that had he been off (which he wasn’t, ever) he definitely could have hit Stanford who’s pointer finger rested inches from the where the arrow tip was now lodged. 

“Barton!”

He made himself scarce after that. He got an email alerting of a disciplinary meeting he had to attend tomorrow and thumped his head against the vent wall. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself. 

Really he should’ve just kept looking for the sidearm himself. If Phil got back before Nat found it he was screwed anyway. That being said, she would have done the same exact thing should he have asked. He exhaled quietly and started to shift toward a different vent system. At home he wasn’t allowed and on base he definitely wasn’t allowed, but he’d already broken rules and was in trouble. 

It was dusty and dirty in these vents and Clint could hear faint voices coming from various grates and tiny scurrying feet from the mice that also enjoyed the space. Clint was going to the long way to Phil’s office because he knew that his handler was back and he would have gotten the email. 

When he finally peered down through the grate Phil was there, working diligently on paperwork. 

Clint sighed loudly, purposely, and Phil looked up at him. There were lines in his forehead that meant he was upset. Clint wanted to hide and curl up in Phil’s lap and say that really it was only sort of his fault. 

“I thought we agreed no more vents?” 

Clint sighed once more and then sneezed because it had been a while since he’d been up there and dust had settled. He opened the grate and slipped down. He rocked on the balls of his feet a moment as Phil carefully gathered the paperwork in front of him and stacked it neatly to his left. The pink slip made Clint’s insides ice up. 

“Take a seat Clint,” Phil sounded tired. He had better things to do than lecture him but here he was, doing it anyway. 

Clint was a bad boy and a bad asset. 

He sat down and steeled himself for being told how disrespectful his behavior had been and that he hadn’t set a good example for the junior agents. 

Instead Phil picked up the phone and said, “Clint is here, we’re ready whenever you are.”

It was unusual and Clint floundered a moment. Who else would be here for that lecture? “Wha’ — who?” He demander after the phone was hung up because it was rude to interrupt.

“Handler Stanford wanted to talk to you about what happened because he’s very upset Clint. Understandably so, I’d say although I would like to hear your side before he gets here.” Phil’s hands were folded in front of him as he waited for Clint to speak.

Clint was tongue-tied as his mind reeled. That wasn’t how disciplinary meetings went! He met with his handler and that was that. “I — It was… He can’t be here,” stressed Clint. “It's not how the meetings go.”

“Typically it’s just the handler and asset,” Phil agreed. “But Agent Stanford requested this meeting to include himself specifically. And unless there’s a reason you’re not comfortable with it — ”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Clint said quickly. “I just went in and I told him his shots were decent!”

“Clint”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I said they were decent. That’s it. And then I shot an arrow but it was the range so it’s not like it’s against the rules.” Clint pointed out, maybe a bit petulantly.

“Well Handler Stanford says you were disrespectful and embarrassed him intentionally in front of his recruits. Can you imagine how saying his shots were ‘decent’ could give him that idea?” Phil asked Clint seeming truly curious. 

He always remained passive when it came to discipline and he never rode to meet the energy level that Clint was at. Clint was both nervous and anxious at once. Teeming with the need to run and hide and also to dig his heels in and spin the situation his favor.

“No?” But Clint couldn’t like to Phil, Big or Little, try as he might.

“Okay, then that’s a good reason why Handler Stanford should join us. So he can explain to you why he feels that way and how we can avoid it in the future.” 

Clint groaned and tilted his head back. C’mon Tasha, you’re killing me. 

“Fine, whatever. This is dumb, by the way. If you’re gonna punish me just do it.” Clint paused and then added, “And they were decent shots. They weren’t good.”

“That kind of attitude is not productive,” Phil gave him The Look, verifying he was old enough to even have this conversation. “Clint?”

“Yes, Phil. I’m fine.” He was Big enough, he was just twitchy and his stomach kind of was aching too but he could deal with that. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Phil’s expression softened minutely. “I can reschedule this if you need me too, little bird.”

Clint’s class was not public knowledge and Phil did his absolute best to protect the knowledge and Clint would be forever grateful to him for doing so. “I’ll be fine.”

He still needed to find that stupid gun, preferably before Phil actually noticed. In that regard this bit of trouble was a good distraction however unpleasant it was, it didn’t make him out to be a horrible agent the way admitting he lost his gun would. Neither situation was ideal but this was probably preferable.

“Okay,” Phil’s body language went smoothly from concerned Caretaker to stern handler and yeah, Clint missed the first one immediately. “Take a seat, Agent Barton.”

Clint did so. The pit of his stomach ached sharply as the curt knock on the door came. 

“Come in, please.” Phil granted.

Stanford was poised but clearly very angry as he closed the door sharply. The click echoed around the office. 

“Agent Barton was telling me that he didn’t intend what he said rudely,” Phil prefaced.

“The hell he didn’t. He was in there showing off — shooting arrows at my hand, Coulson.” 

Clint rolled his eyes, he couldn’t help it. He knew he didn’t need to further antagonize him, the job was done and it would just get him in worse trouble. 

Clint should have nodded his head and apologized but instead he said, “I don’t miss the target — unlike you.”

“Clint,” Phil’s voice was sharp.

The Little part of him withered up in fear at that tone — it was a long time in time out or worse, smacks on the bum. Big Clint barreled forward because was frustrated. He was being punished for something that didn’t break any real, defined rules and that wasn’t fair.

“I’m not wrong,” Clint said. “Sorry you can’t hit the fucking target but I can.”

“There’s no denying your skills,” Phil said in his loud but calm voice that meant it was his turn to speak. “You are a professional, Agent Barton, you’re representing S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Initiative. That means you don’t show off simply because you can.”

Clint stomach truly ached now and he didn’t know if it was because of how furious he was that his handler was mad at him for being good at something or if the scorning tone of Phil affected him on a physical level. 

“I expected better from you as an Agent and I will not stand for that kind of insubordination.” Stanford glared at him and Clint wanted to slug him and cry all at once. “I’m not your Handler and I cannot assign any corrections or limitations to you but if I could your ass wouldn’t step in that range for a month. See how good of aim you’ve got then.”

Clint flinched a bit at that. The range was one of the best parts of his day. He felt most comfortable there. It was where he could shut down and focus on something other than whatever was going on around him.

“He’s not your asset to correct,” Phil said in agreement but he didn’t sound very defensive of Clint. There wasn’t a sharp edge to his tone that Phil got when other handlers tried to offer up punishments for Clint’s digressions and that made Clint’s stomach twist up in fear. “I think a week will suffice as well as an apology, Agent Barton.”

A week with no range time? 

“That-that isn’t fair. I need range time to do my job.” 

Clint had to remain professional. He wanted stomp his feet or storm out.

“Not when you’re at your desk,” Phil folded his hands back in front of him on the desk. “Apologize to Handler Sanford for your actions, Agent Barton.”

Stanford looked too damn smug and it wasn’t fair! “I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m not apologizing. You can’t put me on desk duty for week because I’m good at my job.” Clint set his jaw and he looked defiantly at Phil who did not take the bait of an argument and just looked at him with unwavering patience and maybe a tinge of disappointment.

“Barton,” Stanford glared down at him, seeing an in where he thought his handler wasn’t doing his job. 

Clint was sick of sitting while Stanford was standing over him. He didn’t need respect someone just because they outranked him. What had Stanford done to deserve his respect? He ignored the small voice that piped up demanding to know what he’d done to deserve his disrespect earlier, but Natasha had her reasons and he trusted that. 

“Clint,” Phil was using a Warning voice and not at upset with Stanford who was...being just plain awful.

“No!” His stomach cramped.. “It’s not fair and you-you…”

Clint’s bladder spasmed. 

He had pee — now. 

He dashed to the door already feeling like he was barreling toward a cliff. 

“Hey!” Stanford grabbed his arm and Clint, truly panicked, tried to twist away. The senior agent took advantage of the momentum twisting his arm behind his back in a way that if he moved, he’s dislocate his shoulder. “You don’t get to walk out of a disciplinary meeting, Barton. I don’t care if you’re an Avenger — ”

The second Stanford has grabbed him Phil had lunged forward, demanding Clint be released but even as he hold was released, it was too late. Stanford still had his upper arm in his grasp and it wouldn’t have mattered if he let go.

It was too late the second Clint even realized he had to go and it was a million times worse than he could ever imagined. It wasn’t a little accident or something he could get control of. Clint’s stupid regulation tactical pants were just the right shade of blue that showed how wet they were. It ran down his inseams, down his legs, into his shoes and through the sodden material at the crotch of his pants dribbling onto the carpet. 

And even worse, he was crying but it wasn’t a Little sort of cry. It was hitched ragged sobs of a man doing his absolute best to stay together when he was so clearly splintered apart.

Stanford let go and backed away looking at him in disgust and confusion and then Phil’s palms were on his cheeks and he was saying it was okay over and over again, trying to soothe the upset. 

Clint felt painfully in the moment and detached all at once. Each hitched ragged breath he drew, every teardrop being brushed away by Phil’s thumbs, the way the wet fabric clung to his skin and his toes squished in his socks. Not to mention the way he could feel Stanford staring at him. They were in front of the door so he couldn’t even leave without exposing the situation and Phil hadn’t dismissed him yet. Maybe he’d forgotten too focused on Clint or maybe he didn’t want to expose Clint like this. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Phil tilted his head up as he dropped his chin to rest on his chest. He was too ashamed to look at anyone right now. “Clint, deep breathes or you’re going to make yourself sick.”

Faintly he aware he was choking on his sobs at this point and he mustered all the control he had left at this low, low moment to heave in a breath that exploded back out with a sobbed, “didntknowsorry” that Phil shook his head at. 

“It’s okay, little bird. Accidents happen.”

Clint shook his head angrily. It didn’t happen before, not so much at least and never at work. 

He… He didn’t even have clothes to change into! And it was all…bad. 

Everything was bad right now whether he was Big or Little or this awkward in-between place. Clint’s breathing was finally under control and Phil was there, still Phil not Daddy because Clint was Big or Big-ish which felt wrong in its own regard.

Phil remained with his hands cupping Clint’s face and he murmured soft words of encouragement at his slow settling. Although Clint found in the absence of sobs the humiliation blossomed and he knew his secret was out to Stanford and would he tell?

“Do you have clothes in your locker, Clint?”

A fresh sob built up in his chest. Okay, maybe he had accidents at work sometimes. But not this bad and never when he wasn’t doing anything. Sparring and getting a jab to the gut and pissing a little bit wasn’t as big of a deal as this. He couldn’t pretend his water bottle leaked. Clint bit his fist to keep from sobbing again. The smell of urine in Coulson’s office was stifling within itself and it was cooling rapidly in an increasingly uncomfortable way.

“Clint?” 

“No.” His voice was just barely that above a whisper. 

He wished he could just vanish. Disappearing forever instead of dealing with this moment was preferential. 

“Your go bag?” Phil pressed and now Clint remembered where his gun was. 

“No. M’gun’s there though,” he mumbled. It was too broken down to try and lie. 

“What?”

Clint’s eyes welled with fresh tears at Stanford’s voice. He was hyper aware he was there but hearing him speak was just...bad. Everything was bad today. 

“Tasha’s lookin’ for it and it’s in my bag. She’s not gonna find it.”

“Forget the gun, Barton — you don’t have a set of clothes with you? You always need a go-bag prepared.” Fucking Stanford, still trying lecture him while he was in freshly pissed pants. 

Phil gave Stanford a sharp look and the handler held his hands up in defeat. 

“Okay Clint,” Phil said. “I’ll go grab something from the closet. Agent Stanford, we can continue this another time.”

Clint watched the man flounder a moment through his lashes before giving Clint a sideways look and nodded his head. They slipped out and Clint was alone and wet in a room far too big and stuck somewhere between headspaces. Phil came back with a bundle of clothes shortly after, alone, and Clint felt like he was breaking all over again. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint whispered.

“It was an accident.” Phil set the clothes to the side and Clint choked audibly at the plastic rustle. “Just in case, Clint.”

“Not at work,” he was begging. “Please I won’t — I promise it won’t happen again. Please.”

Phil frowned now and Clint’s bottom lip was trembling so badly he had to bite it. 

“It’s not a punishment, little bird. What if this had happened in the hallway or down in the range? I don’t want to see you cry like that again.”

“‘m not Little,” he protested quietly.

“I know that Clint. If you were I’d have already brought you home. Let’s get you changed before you get itchy.”

Clint was glad to shuck off the pissy pants and to have his skin wiped down with wet paper towels but he wasn’t happy about what came next. Phil frowned at his sneakers and damp socks when Clint glared at the pull up. Just boring white with a faint blue ‘MEDIUM’ printed on it. Phil must have gotten them from medical. 

“They didn’t have any other sizing options so I’m hopeful it’ll fit.” 

Clint’s face colored. Even though he was naked from the waist down and still faintly smelled of urine he felt the worst of it had passed. Well, almost. 

“I don’t need it.” Clint insisted once more. 

“We probably don’t need bulletproof vests for milk run missions but we still equip them. And why is that, Clint?”

Clint huffed out a breath and took the stupid thing in his hands. He already hated it. “To be safe. In case...something out of our control goes wrong.”

Phil smiled in a way that usually made everything better but no, today was bad. Everything was bad. 

“I won’t have another accident,” he swore again. “Please Phil.”

“I don’t have underwear for you anyway.” A tactic change? “We have a meeting about the Avengers mission last month.”

Clint’s mood plummeted and was lifted at once. “Kinda late for that,” he muttered.

“There’s been recent developments,” Phil replied cryptic as usual. 

Clint didn’t have the luxury of information hot off the press; Phil didn’t do special treatment simply because of their relationship. 

“You don’t have time to run home either unfortunately.”

“I’ll go commando then,” Clint shrugged. “No biggie.”

“Clint, please.” Phil was as unrelenting on this as he was about overnight protection and that bothered Clint. 

“No.” He put it down and grabbed the sweatpants.

Phil caught his wrist. Clint forgot how strong he was; he portrayed a desk jockey well. “Clint, I’m not asking anymore and I’m sorry that you’re upset. Put it on now, please.”

Clint huffed angrily and as he threw down the pants and picked up the offensive item. “What they just keep ‘em in stock cos they just assume I…” Clint swallowed hard at the swell of emotion. “It doesn’t happen lots, you know that.”

Phil’s sternness faded away to soft understanding. “I think maybe we should talk about that at your next physical? It’s not unusual for those with your Classification to have incontinence.”

The word was like a blow and Clint’s vision went hazy and he wanted to rip the stupid thing apart because then he wouldn’t have to wear it and it wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Or maybe you’re just a little stressed,” Phil added in a soft voice sensing his distress. “Do you want help?”

“No.” 

Maybe his voice was sharper than he intended but it wasn’t his top concern. He stepped into the stupid pull up and it too big because they weren’t made for him like the ones at home. He knew they came from a pharmacy and whatnot but he never had to get them. It was one of those things he kept out mind especially at work. And now… 

He rubbed his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. “Clint are you sure you’re okay?”

There was no way to make it better. It didn’t cinch properly so if he had an accident it would probably leak and that made it fucking useless. 

Clint gestured at it angrily. “Won’t even work anyway.”

“It goes up higher than that,” Phil knew that Clint was well aware of that and that he hated this style because it was uncomfortable. “Here.”

Clint glared at the wall, stubbornly refusing to look at Phil as it was adjusted above his hips. It still didn’t feel right and it probably would leak if he had an accident which he wouldn’t. So really it wasn’t fair that Phil was making him. “Do you need help putting on your pants?” 

“No.”

Phil was putting his pants and underwear and his left sock into a plastic bag. “I’m going to put this in the car.” 

[oOo oOo]

The meeting was in the conference room not too far from Phil’s office which was fine because since Clint was now on desk duty he was going to make it Phil’s desk he’s stayed at. The goal was to annoy his his handler into revoking the punishment early.

Clint was miserable and already sick to death of sitting down by the time people starting actually appearing — fifteen minutes late. Steve had been on time but completely absorbed in his phone. He’d smiled at Clint briefly but work Steve was different from Caregiver Steve. Bruce was on time and Natasha came in shortly afterward. Her look of apology was enough to know that she hadn’t found the gun because of course she hadn’t. 

He was now in trouble for nothing. 

Sam practically sprinted in apologizing profusely for being late. Thor hadn’t been on that particular mission so he wasn’t going to be here.

So then they were just waiting on Tony and Tony was always late. Almost twenty past he came striding in with a cup of coffee from the cafe downstairs. Clearly he hadn’t been in a hurry to get here.

“You guys didn’t have to wait.” Tony read the tone of the room immediately as weary gazes fixed on him. “Wait, are sweats now within regulation?”

Clint’s expression darkened further and Steve peered around curiously. 

“Let’s focus,” Phil looked at the open seat and Tony sighed laboriously as he sat. 

Clint didn’t pay much attention. The low lighting and lulling tone of Phil’s voice combined with all his crying earlier had drained him. His eyes felt heavy but he didn’t noticed them drooping.

“Clint,” Phil nudged him. “Clint, I need you to pay attention.”

“Stop,” he whined and burrowed his face in his arms shifting over. “I jus’ wanna sleep Daddy.”

He was drifting out again, Phil wasn’t bugging him anymore and then, “What the fuck did Barton just call you?”

Clint jerked back to consciousness. 

“N’thin’,” he slurred half awake and panicking. “Didn’t...say n’thin’ shuddup Stark.”

He looked wildly toward the man who seemed vaguely amused but mostly judgmental. 

“Easy there, buddy — not my fault you call your handler, Daddy.” Tony snorted and then froze and Clint’s stomach plummeted as he could see the pieces coming together. “Wait.”

Clint bolted.

[oOo oOo]

He went back to Phil’s office and paced.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own and that felt like defeat within itself. Tony wouldn’t want him on the team anymore. Clint felt the pad of his thumb pressing against his bottom lip as he was overcome with the urge to soothe his own anxiety. Phil always nudged his thumb from his mouth and made whatever was making him upset better or, if for whatever reason it couldn’t consoled, offered that stupid nookie that made Clint’s stomach burn with embarrassment. He could contend with being classed as a Little but not that Little. The pull ups were bad enough. 

Phil wasn’t here, he hadn’t followed him. Big Clint was thankful that he probably was smoothing things over with Tony. Little Clint was desperate for his caretaker to be there. When Phil did come back Clint was right back in the middle headspace where he was anxious and annoyed and frightened and pissed off all at once. Mostly because he wasn’t alone. 

“Phil,” his voice was strained as tried to figure out if he was supposed to glare at him or give him puppy-dog eyes.

“Natasha explained what happened in the range.” Phil said as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “Also we were able to solve the case of Clint’s Missing Gun.”

Bruce was seated at the desk looking at the knickknack that swirled around with interest. Clint felt a bit trapped — no, he felt a lot trapped. He gulped waiting to be scolded for misplacing it in the first place, and for trying to hide it, and for not telling Phil the truth to begin with. 

“You still need to apologize to Handler Stanford but I think three days with no range access and desk duty will suffice.” Phil gave him a level look. “Can you agree with that?”

“‘s fine,” Clint fiddled with his hearing aid.

“Good. Perhaps now we can finish the meeting?”

Clint stared at him and Phil just rose a brow. Right, no special treatment, no getting out of responsibilities unless he was not in his Big headspace which, technically, he was. Clint wanted to glare at every one of his oddly quiet teammates but he wasn’t quite that confrontational. Plus it now begged the question of what they were doing for the past fifteen or so minutes if it wasn’t finishing the meeting. 

Phil had probably told them about his Classification and now no one would treat him the same. No respect, just kid gloves. He would be stuck on desk duty forever and no one would let him snipe or help. He was still so tired though that just the idea of raising a fuss and having to be defensive was too distracting to function like nothing was wrong. 

“I for one would like this done with as soon as possible. Pretty sure we’ve all got better things to do,” Tony finally broke the tension.

While his words very Tony-esque his tone was all wrong. Not at all agitated or bitter enough. “I’m leaving.” Clint went toward the door and Phil quickly sidestepped to block the door. 

The uncomfortable situation upticked as Clint glared at his handler. “Fuckin’ move, Coulson.”

“Clint,” Steve sounded both admonishing and comforting all at once.

“Don’t.” He snapped. “Let me through Coulson. Now.”

“Agent Barton, meetings are not optional. You’re holding up your entire team.” Phil countered, unwavering and difficult and today was not good.

“I hate you.”

Clint hadn’t ever said those word before and the pit of his stomach dropped down to his toes the moment it left his mouth. His ears were ringing and his throat felt tight. He watched a controlled look of surprise appear on Phil’s face and that was wrongwrongwrong because it wasn’t nice. Clint didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings especially not Daddy’s because he was… He was the best. 

“I’m sorry you’re upset, Clint.” 

Clint, not Agent Barton. “‘m sorry.” Clint said, voice hardly above a ragged whisper.

His job was important, being on the Avengers was important, being respected was important — but Phil was more important than any of those things. More important than everything else put together. Clint drew in a ragged breath that made his chest hurt and his lungs sear. He was so, so sorry he said that and Daddy once said it was hard to take back words and that’s why it was so important to be nice.

His thumb was pressed against his bottom lip and Phil’s face swam in front of him. A hand wrapped about his wrist pulling his thumb away from his mouth. Phil led him toward the desk and somehow the room had emptied around them. He wasn’t Big enough to noticed them leaving, he hardly noticed they were gone. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again and Phil pulled close. “I didn’t mean it Daddy. I love you.”

“I know sweetheart. Sometimes we get upset and we say things we don’t mean no matter how Big or Little we are.”

Clint pressed his face against Phil chest. He was warm and safe and he didn’t want him to go away or think Clint didn’t love him. His thumb strayed back up to his mouth and Phil didn’t stop him this time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you were so close to being Little. Today was a lot and I think maybe we should take a few days, hm?”

Clint tucked himself closer. That always sounded good, especially with Daddy. Everything else could wait until he was Big again.

[ oOoOo ]

Clint woke up with Chirp and Blanket in a bed with soft purple sheets. 

He nuzzled his face deeper into his pillows and wiped away the drool on his cheeks as he flopped over with a whimper. 

Soft, purple wet sheets. 

The bed was damp and that meant he had leaked. Clint knew he needed a bath and that now he probably couldn’t just crawl into Daddy’s bed to wake him up because then Daddy’s bed would get wet. 

He got out of the bed, found his aids on on the nightstand beside his night light and went to the door. His pants were damp and the pull up was weighed down heavily, almost sliding off his bum completely as he did an awkward shuffle down the hall. When he wet the bed it was uncomfortable but rarely did the sheets get wet. 

It was dark and shadowy and he froze up a bit in the doorway of his room. The hallway had a little light in it but didn’t chase the darkness away.

Daddy always told him that at home it was safe and there were no beasties hidden in the shadows but Daddy was there to keep him safe at the moment. Just the dark stretch of the hallway before him. 

Clint hugged Chirp tighter and took one step, and then two, and three and then four — and then he raced to the hallway switch and the hallway was flooded with far too bright light. 

Clint whimpered and covered his eyes with his arm, eyes burning and watering. 

“Clint, what’s wrong?” Daddy’s voice sounded so far away and kind of hollow. He hadn’t set his aids right but he couldn’t remember how right now.

Daddy’s bedroom door opened up immediately and Clint saw he wasn’t in sleeping clothes quite yet. His Caretaker hurried toward him and he looked really tired so Clint felt even guiltier about his accident. Clint gestured helplessly to his ears — he didn’t like the way Daddy’s voice sounded. Immediately Daddy knelt down to fix the hearing aids that had been sloppily put on his ears. 

He always knew the right setting and Clint felt soothed already.

“Dark,” he whimpered because that was foremost his concern now he could hear properly. 

“I know. The big lights go out at night time but we’ve got the nightlights, see? Let’s get you back to — uh-oh, looks like you had an accident.” He was close enough to see that he had. “I should’ve known that one would leak.”

“Sorry Daddy.”

“You don’t need to apologize for accidents, little bird. You can’t help it. Let’s get a bath run.”

“‘m sleepy,” Clint rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “Washcloth?”

“We had a washcloth clean up earlier. It’ll be a quick one, okay bug?”

Clint nodded and took Daddy’s hand going to the bathroom. He ran the taps immediately and Clint began to perk up as his eyes adjusted to the light. “Toys?” He prodded the bucket under the sink while Daddy withdrew a washcloth.

“Tomorrow night,” Daddy said. “Let’s get that wet thing off you.”

He left the shirt off first because it was damp up the back and side. Clint’s eyes roamed to the bright blue bottle up on the ‘no touch’ shelf. “Bubbles?” he tried. 

He knew better than to ask about the bathtub paint. Daddy was very upset last time it was used because Clint had been naughty and painted himself and everything in the bathroom. The washer was still tinged green and the sink was stained purple. 

“Tomorrow,” Daddy repeated. “Step out please.”

Clint obediently stepped out of the wet clothes and Daddy held out his hand put for Blanket and Chirp because they did not go in the bathtub. Clint frowned. 

“Please?”

“Sorry honey.”

The bathtub was filling as Clint was helped over the edge. The single ducky that sat on the edge of the tub was handed to him to keep his hands busy as Daddy reached for the soap and cup. “Scoot closer to me please.”

Clint did so already incredibly bored with the process and growing less tired by the second. 

“Can I have bubbles?” He asked again — maybe Daddy would change his mind.

“It’s too late for that.” A washcloth ran over his skin, sweet smelling and soapy. “I’m taking these out.”

Clint went to cup his ears protectively but Daddy caught his wrists. They could get wet but it was better if they didn’t, Daddy always explained, cos they didn’t work so good when they were wet. Plus Clint would get an ear infection and those made everyone miserable. 

“Just for a minute sweetheart.”

It being dark was almost as scary as when it was Quiet. It jumbled up all the Big feelings he didn’t have names for (the things around corners, why he was scared of hands vanishing from sight, new people, loud noises…) and his Little feelings up into a mimosa of stuff he just didn’t have words to express. 

But he was safe with Daddy and he knew that. He was Home and at Home the Quiet was safe.

Daddy slipped them out and Clint let his hands fall back into the water, sloshing his hand through it a few times. He missed the splashy noises immediately. Clint looked up at Daddy who had turned around around to set the aids on the corner of sink. 

Clint twisted his hands together, heartbeat rabbiting with anxiety as the Quiet closed in around him. It made him wonder the Quiet was scarier than the dark. 

Daddy nudged his chin up a bit and smiled in that special way that made Clint feel warm all the way through. The corners of his eyes crinkled a bit and his eyes danced in the light. Clint could see himself in them and that felt...good. 

Daddy showed him his hands. Slowly he signed, 

‘DADDY LOVES C-L-I-N-T’

It was like a nightlight chasing the shadows of Quiet back to the corners. It soothed the noisy Big side and delighted his Little side. 

Bit by bit Clint lit up and returned, ‘C-L-I-N-T LOVES DADDY’ then he paused and made the gesture for more. 

Daddy smiled and kissed his nose. 

Even though the bath didn’t have toys or bubbles and was Quiet, it was quick. Daddy would smile and tickle him if he started to get out, talking with their hands. Sometimes saying things that Little Clint didn’t know but Big Clint probably did because they made him feel warm and fuzzy regardless. 

Finally Daddy let him stand and he was wrapped up with a big, soft blue and purple dotted towel and patted dry. 

Daddy turned the light on in Clint’s room and the room brightened. The toy chest in the corner beckoned him and he took a step toward it. An arm corralled him back to the closet. 

“Daddy,” Clint protested.

Daddy cringed a bit because Clint wasn’t sure how loud his voice was supposed to be when he couldn’t hear but he guessed it was too loud. 

Daddy replaced the aids and the Quiet went away. Cling could hear him moving hangers around and he took a few more steps toward the toys taking advantage of the distraction. 

“Clint, it’s too late to play.”

Clint tilted his head back with a whine of opposition. He didn’t feel tired anymore so why wouldn’t he play? “Not tired. Cereal?”

“It’s not breakfast time yet, it’s almost midnight. Come here please.”

“I’m hungry,” he scuffed his toe on the carpet. “Didn’t have dinner.”

“I can make you something for dinner,” Daddy agreed, “but after its bedtime. First we need to get you dressed, you’re shivering.”

“‘kay,” Clint was cold so he reached for his Halloween costume, a dalmation suit, but Daddy had already found his sleeping clothes. His teeth chattered a bit. “I want grilled cheese.”

“I think we can do that.”

“Please,” Clint added as his shirt was pulled carefully over his head and his Daddy smiled, pleased he’d remembered his manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this please let me know, it’s such an awesome motivator to write more.


	3. ‘Oops, Daddy’ and an ‘Uh-Oh’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Clint is a treasure that Phil holds near and dear. The team shows their appreciation (after trying to explain Classifications to Thor). Big Clint is doing his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments and kudos, it really motivates me to write. I hope you like Little Clint from Phil’s perspective.

“I don’t see the issue.” 

Bruce hadn’t known he was leaving the quiet, calm lab space he had been in for a communal meal that was actually just arguing. Steve had made an excellent dish but no one was eating it. They seemed far too keyed up about Tony’s conversation topic.

It felt wrong to talk about Clint without him being here and even worse to know they were talking about something so personal. He avoided such things on principle and for the sake of those around him. He was adjusting and appreciating the subtle closeness of living in the Tower. Sometimes when Tony was on his all night stunts and listening to the same awful AC/DC album on a loop he missed the quiet cabin he lived in back in India but more often than not it was comforting to come out for three am tea and have a fellow brilliant mind to discuss things with or Natasha‘s calming company or even polite Steve’s conversation. 

But discussing a teammate’s Classification was… It felt wrong, like a betrayal of privacy just like that day when he felt they stayed a little too long. 

It wasn’t quite a hot button issue that he feared losing control over but it wasn’t his place to share his thoughts and opinions on something that did not concern him. Tony had pulled him in on the increasingly terse conversation with Steve clearly expecting him to share his feelings on the matter. The look of stilted betrayal Bruce got from Tony made it clear how badly he’d disappointed him. 

Bruce now considered Tony a friend and he knew when Tony was playing up the theatrics. This seemed like one of those times so Bruce sipped his tea and tried to avoid getting involved further. 

“We do not have these Classes on Asgard.” Thor proclaimed for the third time since they began the discussion (all of fifteen minutes ago). “What is this Little and how has he wronged our archer?”

Thor was actually very intelligent but Natasha’s attempts at explaining it had convoluted things even worse. Bruce felt for his confusion but also for Natasha’s almost too gentle approach to explaining it. If they didn’t have the Caretaker/Little Classifications in Asgard then it would be a shock and difficult to explain. Thor took Classifications as an absolute, which they were, but not something that came went. 

It would have been almost amusing to watch if Bruce didn’t feel so bad about what had happened. 

It made his heart heavy. He’d never seen the archer cry that way. Clint had been so terribly upset and that was supposed to be the primary concern, not ‘why didn’t they tell us’. 

He was still struggling to wrap his head around what had happened in the conference room and in Agent Coulson’s office. Bruce hadn’t expected the archer break down like that, even after being told he was a Little. Biology was a funny thing in the way it rendered people powerless beneath it. 

“He is Clint,” Tony said with a hand wave of indifference. “That’s the issue.”

No, no it wasn’t and now they had confused Thor even more. His brows came together as he tried to piece the information that was very little fact and most opinion into a sound understanding he could pass judgment on. He wondered if All Speak didn’t translate this particular concept in terms he understood. Bruce wished he’d studied a bit further into Norse mythology once he had been introduced to the God. 

“I… I admit I do not follow this Midgardian Classification system. The archer is...well? The Little has not hurt him?”

Bruce wanted to laugh. Not the humorous kind of laugh but the sort nervous chuckle that built up in your chest when you truly could not believe something was happening. Maybe they were so focused on this because there wasn’t anything they could do at this moment.

“Clint is a Little.” Tony said impatiently. “That is his Classification, got that much Point Blank?”

“Yes.” Thor seemed a bit insulted and Bruce didn’t blame him. Again, Thor was brash but smart. He latched onto new, alien ideas faster than most people did. “Though we do not have that Classification on Asgard. I ask again, what is a Little?”

Tony picked up his glass and drained it before he began to toy with his utensils. It seemed like he was best deciding how to answer the question but he did not speak. Bruce was both disappointed and not all surprised when he realized he wasn’t going to explain it. He assumed it was probably for the best given how the night’s conversation had gone on. Natasha looked agitated and Steve was clearly too close to the issue (not issue...now Bruce was thinking it too) so Bruce decided it wouldn’t cause much additional hurt to give it a go. It was like Bruce could confuse the God worse than he already was. 

“Well, there’s a small Class of people here who are Caregivers and Littles. Caregivers take care of the Littles. Littles need to nurtured by their Caregivers.” 

Bruce was curious as to what they had instead in Asgard. Multiple dimensions were fascinating but a little too far from his scope of study. Not that he wasn’t dying to learn more once he found an appropriate way to broach the subject. Maybe once he knew Thor a bit better or if he connected with Jane.

“Does that make sense?” Bruce asked watching Thor’s face closely. 

“I understand their role but not their purpose. Can Clint not care for himself?” 

Thor was always a bit blunt and usually Bruce didn’t mind it. But now they were stepping in an uncomfortable territory of political correctness and theorizing and opinions when Bruce was positive it would just make things worse. He didn’t get a chance to cut off the topic because Tony was already talking. 

“That’s the question isn’t it? Can they care for themselves?” Tony shrugged in a ‘who knows’ manner. “They can’t when they’re Little for damn sure.”

Thor’s confusion was now edging toward anger and that was a hot button issue for the Hulk. He knew how strong Thor was and he would protect himself and the team. “I do not understand. If one is Little are they not always Little?” Thor gave Tony a heavy look as if he thought he was intentionally trying to confuse him. “When you are not Neutral what are you? When our archer is not Little, what is he?”

“I’m always Neutral,” Tony snapped. “It’s different from them. They’re always Littles but it’s, uh, I don’t know like a dormant state.”

“What is a Little’s dormant state Classification then?”

Steve sighed quietly and looked ready to abandon the table and probably the team. 

“There isn’t a Classification for that Thor. It’s a has example.” Bruce finally said. “What you’re asking is not something we can answer. There’s a lot of equality concerns and Classism tied up into and it’s hard to explain.”

“Asgard does not have such conflicts,” Thor seemed to be pitying them. “I will not cause additional suffering on such things. I must know if our archer is still fighting for us? And if it is safe for him to do so when…he is in the ‘dormant state’ as you say.”

“Yes.” Natasha said firmly. “Of course he is. No question.”

Thankfully people did not argue with Natasha so that bit was laid to rest quickly.

“I don’t have a problem with them.” Tony announced although no one had asked “I don’t. I’m actually a very tolerant person you know. I mean, not when I’m personally liable like in the case of the Little currently on my staff.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Thor said after a moment, “Hawkeye will not always be Little? I thought classes to be permanent. You are a Caretaker so you must understand them better.”

“They are. Just, with Littles, it’s a bit different. They don’t always… I mean, they are always Littles but they don’t always act Little,” Steve was doing an exceptionally poor job at explaining this. “Like Tony said, it’s more of, uh, more of an on and off thing.”

“This still makes no sense to me but continue on why it has upset you.” 

“Because they didn’t tell us he was Little.” Tony was back into the conversation and to fuming quietly as he picked up his glass pouring more water from the pitcher. “It was kept a secret until Barton threw a fit over a meeting.”

“He was not throwing a fit.” Steve snapped. “Maybe they didn’t want to tell you because of your opinion on them.”

“I don’t have an opinion on them. I have reasonable concern with placing children in danger but that’s more of moral thing.” Tony spit back. “And before I shared my moral take on allowing a child playing with unstable materials, it was already being kept secret.”

“He’s not always a child.” Steve looked a bit pained to say it and Bruce suspected that was the Caregiver part of him. 

It was probably difficult to know a Little was being cared for by another. It was probably the reason Steve had cooked a meal for the team, to feel like he was providing for them. Bruce felt for him. He was a Neutral himself but had taken enough courses in sociology to know that those Instincts did not always tuck themselves away when not needed. Even now when he was upset with Tony he didn’t seem angry. He was scolding him. 

“Tony, this is exactly why Clint was so scared to tell the team.”

“Imagine that,” Tony said dryly. “He already knew that we would have our share of concerns. It was an intentional move due to lack of trust from the beginning.”

“Maybe instead of discussing why it happened how about we try to move forward.” 

Natasha hadn’t said whether or not she’d known and when asked had given Tony a murderous look and said it was none of his concern.

“Fine,” Tony sulked a moment before adding, “If he’s hidden it this long then he must have decent control.” 

“He does.” Steve agreed immediately.

The Captain visibly relaxed now he didn’t feel the need to be so defensive of Clint. 

“And now he doesn’t have an excuse not to move in here — unless he’s harboring some more deep dark things he doesn’t want the team to know.” 

Bruce rose a brow at that. He had expected Tony to withdraw the invitation — as politely as Tony Stark was capable of doing. He hadn’t thought much about what it would be like to be around Clint when he was Little. That suddenly seemed like a very real possibility it in the not so distant future. 

Steve had smiled a bit to himself and Bruce wondered how he and Phil would get along with one Little. 

Finally he got to eat as Thor started to dig in. No more questions, just quiet understanding that Clint was Little and the world hadn’t ended because of it. 

[oOoOo]

Phil Coulson was a busy man. 

Life did not get shelved on whim and didn’t bend to the will of personal time. Things continued on and Director Fury kept him well out of the loop when he wasn’t working. It was both maddening and comforting all at once because no matter how badly Phil wanted to dote on and cater to his Little, he had entire agency that needed care as well. 

Maria ran herself too hard, Nick forgot the basics such as eating or sleeping, R&D was working with some unstable compounds and they weren’t the most careful bunch — but Clint was just as important (actually, more so if he was to be honest). 

Phil had an emergency pager, should the world truly come to the absolute brink of destruction, but otherwise he was here, pretending to be asleep in hopes Clint would lay down and sleep a few hours longer.

He had come in at five fifteen, under the impression he was stealthy but his uncoordinated footsteps and the way he was shushing the stuffed animal in his arms combined with Phil’s ultra-light sleeping made his entrance as noisy as an alarm. 

Clint crawled onto the bed, kneeling at the foot of it a moment mumbling to himself before creeping up closer to Phil’s head. He hesitated there a moment, leaning over him, as if debating on formally waking his Caregiver but instead the Little gone back toward the foot of the bed and laid with his head resting on Phil’s calf. Phil was tempted to peek down at him, to ensure he was okay and there wasn’t a reason he was up so early save for the early bedtime after the meeting fiasco. That combined with concerns about a rising threat had kept Phil up, mind humming most of the night. 

He resisted. Morning quiet time was a must with Clint and even though Phil was now awake, it was best to let the Little think he was still sleeping. It helped them adjust out of their SHIELD agent routine and into Clint being Little.

When the digital clock read six and Clint was rolling around restlessly, talking to himself at an increased volume clearly in an attempt to ‘accidentally’ wake his Daddy. 

Phil opened his eyes and did a faux yawn for show. Immediately Clint was up off his belly, bouncing on his knees. The disgusting scrap of fabric dubbed Blanket was on Phil’s comforter as well. It tinged with age and wear and lord knows what else Clint had gotten on it but he loved it so much Phil couldn’t bare to separate it. He had tried to wash it but the treads seemed to dissolve in even the most gentle of soaps. Chirp, the stuffed hawk Phil had bought him after he found out his Class was crushed to the Little’s chest as a blue eyes looked hopefully up at him. 

“Mornin’!” 

Too loud, much too loud. 

Phil sat up and a crooked a finger. Clint cocked his head a moment, fluffy blonde hair up at random points on his head looking a bit like a fledgling’s feathers. The request seemed to clicked and he came closer, cheeks dusting with color as Phil adjusted the volume. 

He always turned it low before he took them out — Clint said that the feedback when removing them was insufferable at times. Little Clint’s fingers were too clumsy to adjust the volume. 

“Good morning Clint,” Phil smoothed down his hair to the best of his ability. “What do you say we get some food in that tummy?”

“Yes.” Clint’s face lit up just as expected at the mention of food. “Please!”

“Are you wet?” 

Clint’s nose scrunched up as he seemed to consider the question on a deeper level. Phil already knew his thinking: if he was wet, he’d have to wait longer for breakfast because he would need to be changed and Clint was very much a ‘now’ sort of Little. 

“No.” Phil was about to reach for him but Clint was already slipping off the bed. “Waffles?”

“I don’t know if I can make waffles for boys who tell me fibs.” Phil put on his best face of indecision. “You haven’t told me a fib, right little bird?”

His little bird looked more like a deer in headlights. It was actually quite amazing how his eyes seemed too big for his face when he was Little — or maybe it was the vulnerability and trust in them that made them appear so. He had Blanket in his hand with the stuffed hawk resting in the crook of his elbow. 

“Waffles, please?” He tried seeming shy.

Phil sat up and waited patiently for Clint to decide how to start the day. Officially his headspace rested between three and five. On his hardest days he was younger and on his easiest days, older. Phil loved him at all stages, through ever tantrum or cuddle or fibs or mood. Either way, Clint would still get his waffles it was just a matter of when. 

“Are you wet?” Phil repeated the question and this time Clint opened his mouth and then shut it immediately afterward looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t want you to end up with a rash, Clint.”

“I don’t wanna get dressed yet.” The Little pushed his bottom lip out into a pout that Coulson would literally stop the world for. “Waffles, please.”

Phil was certain Steve would be just jumping with delight that the manners thing was finally starting to register with Little Clint. (With Big Clint it was still iffy at best but that more of Clint being Clint than him not knowing any better.)

“As soon as you’re dressed and dry.” 

Phil watched the hopeful expression crumble into the deepest pits of despair but Clint didn’t burst into noisy tears or drop bonelessly to the floor. Instead Clint whined, loudly, but let himself get led to the bathroom with no resistance. “Clint, what did I say about waking up wet?”

Clint looked moodily off at the cupboard before he glanced at Phil and then away like he’d been scolded. 

“To tell Daddy.”

“And why is that important?”

Phil wiped him down and carefully applied cream to the areas already red and irritated. His chest ached in guilt. Phil wished he’d thought to check sooner, especially with how Clint was handling accidents when he was Big. Usually he came to Phil immediately because it was uncomfortable. Once more Phil found himself wondering if pull ups were going to cut it because they didn’t absorb nearly as well.

“So it doesn’t itch,” Clint mumbled. He eyed the pull up and color crept up his neck. “I’m sorry Daddy. Do I gotta wear it?”

“You gotta,” Phil confirmed. Clint whined but didn’t fuss. Phil fixed his pants and kissed his forehead as he washed his hands. “And we don’t apologize for accidents.” 

Though, Phil would have to rethink his comfort phrase because it was a bit too frequent to be deduced to mere accidents. That was something to talk about when Clint was Big however though he had a feeling talking would not be as easy as he was hoping. Chances were Phil would try to convince him to go to medical and failing that order him there as either Caregiver or Handler. 

It could be normal because he was a Little or it could something serious. Phil didn’t like to take unnecessary chances and he hopes that Clint hearing that it was okay from a doctor would soothe his nerves about it. 

“Let’s go put Chirp and Blanket away and get you dressed.” 

“‘kay Daddy.”

Once the batter was in the waffle maker, Clint was sitting up at the table humming wonderfully offkey the intro to Krypto the Superdog because that, Clifford the Big Red Dog, and Kipper were the only TV shows Little Clint wanted. 

Phil chopped up a honeydew melon and sliced strawberries. It was almost humorous to be doing such things when he took into account how Big days usually went (Clint had coffee and not much else before noon because Phil often had board meetings in the mornings) but Little Clint needed a proper meal. 

It was therapeutic for him as well, the most basic of impulse rewards to stockpile for the moments when Clint was Big and did not appreciate being coddled and cared for as much. 

He cut up a waffle, filled the spoutless purple cup that Clint loved and left the Little to eat while he got dressed.

Once prepared for the day Phil was able to sit and watch Clint clumsily stabbing the fork into the waffle pieces with the feeling of satisfaction. The bright smile between bites was all the confirmation Phil needed to know his boy was being cared for. 

Phil tutted softly as Clint started to pick up the fruit with his fingers. He had hoped not to end up with syrup everywhere this morning though that was rapidly fading as Clint gave a sticky, guilty smile and let his hand rest on the table. His fingers left dark smears of syrup on the table cloth. 

Clint’s hunger began to fade. It was easy for Phil to tell because he was scooping up mouthfuls of syrup now instead of waffles, but it was a fork so most of said syrup was dripping all over the table and Clint before it made it to his mouth. 

“Finish your fruit as then we can get you cleaned up.” Phil tried to gently put him on the task of eating without Clint getting upset. 

Clint just hummed and smacked his syrupy lips together as he reached for his cup. After he had carefully set it down he studied the plate. But blue eyes peered up at him as he prodded at a piece of melon that was now coated in maple syrup. 

“Please?” 

The Caretaker wasn’t certain what Clint was asking for. Perhaps he didn’t have a grasp on manners quite yet, Phil thought amused. He had simply realized that he was rewarded for saying certain words which was perfectly normal for his age group. 

“Three more bites,” Phil said and Clint started to get up on his knees in the seat. “Nope, feet out Clint. You know better.”

Phil really should have known better than to give him a breakfast laden in sugar but spoiling Clint was one of favorite hobbies and it was their day off. A sugar hyped Clint was a small price to pay in exchange for being around him. 

“Feet out,” Clint echoed absentmindedly, eyes straying down the plate. “Feet out.”

“That’s right, feet out.”

Phil waited for him to do so but Clint was more interested in jabbing his index finger into a chunk of fruit and drawing in the syrup. Clint mumbled ‘feet out’ a few more times before he tried to take the fruit off the plate and onto the table cloth when he realized the syrup left a sticky line of residue on the light gray fabric. Just like the finger paint, Phil thought with a small shudder.

Phil made a mournful sound and dove forward to catch Clint’s hand before he make a complete mess.

“Clinton.” Phil hardened his voice and go a woeful look in return.

“Oops.” Clint managed a great look of surprise as if the entire incident was something he had no idea was happening. “Oops, Daddy.”

Phil had to carefully school his expression because he wanted to smile at the way Clint peered up through his lashes, bashful and adorable and alternating looks of shock at the sticky mess in front of him. 

“Feet out,” Clint did so and Phil picked up the fork, internally flinching at the syrup now turned adhesive that coated the handle. “Do you need help?”

Typically the Little would shake his head but Clint reached for his juice before opening his mouth expectantly. 

He was usually very adamant about feeding himself, constantly overestimating what he was capable of when he was Little. Phil knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth so he carefully fed Clint melon and the few slices of strawberries remaining. To his pleasure he was able to slip in some more waffle as well. Clint was pliant and turned his face away from Phil when he was truly done. He had eaten far more than three bites and Phil was feeling triumphant as he took the plate — and chances for a worse mess than a syrup coated Little — away to the kitchen. 

Clint trailed behind him into the kitchen grabbing a stool from the counter he began to tug across the floor. Phil cringed at the scraping of metal against tile and put a heavy on the stool to stop him from being able to pull it. Clint grunted and pulled against it without result and looked at Phil appearing hurt. 

“Stuck!” Clint pulled again. 

“They stay at the bar, you know that.” Phil carefully lifted the stool up and brought it back to its rightful place. “Do you want to sit at the counter while Daddy does the dishes?”

“Daddy,” Clint ignored the question held the spoutless cup upside down, shaking it a few times for emphasis. 

“Clint.” Phil knew he wanted something more to drink and indulged him with a knowing smile. “Use your words, little bird.”

Clint looked at him pleadingly, bottom lip pushing out into the most convincing pout. Phil was once more tempted to knock the earth off its axis is a quest to ensure his Little got the drink he was looking for. He remained steadfast as he gave him an expectant look. 

“Purple.” Clint finally said, cup held out toward Phil.

Phil did not take the bait. “It’s is purple, you’re right. Good job with your colors.”

Phil had already unplugged the waffle maker and it was now cool enough to take apart. Clint looked peeved as he shuffled his feet in place. He shook the cup once more.

“Daddy,” his voice upticked a notch, whining openly now. 

“Ask properly, Clint. I know you can.” 

He returned his focus fully on the Little who scrunched up his face. His eyes roamed over the counters clearly looking for a treat of sorts but all there was out were breakfast leftovers. He completed his slow scan of the kitchen and blinked up at Phil.

“Please?”

“Of course you may have something to drink, Clint. Thank you so much for asking nicely.” 

Phil took the cup and the Little took a moment to be pleased in his own little win. The cup needed a washing before it was returned and so did Clint. He set the cup beside the sink and Clint tilted his head in confusion. 

“Please?”

“I need to wash your face first.”

The look of offense was immediately and Clint drew away seeming deeply betrayed. It was a look Phil remembered from telling Big Clint that no, he wasn’t going to give a free pass to cut lines in the mess hall because he got cranky when he was hungry and yes turning off his hearing aids during meetings he didn’t care about was in fact rude. 

“Please!”

“You’re covered in maple syrup, little bird. Do you want to be sticky forever?”

Clint eyes narrowed and he responded without hesitation. “Yes.”

Phil couldn’t hide the smile completely at Clint’s eyes lit up in delight. He looked ready to run so Phil pulled out the big guns.

“Well, I know for a fact that you can’t play with your toys if you’re sticky because then they’ll be covered in ants.” Phil spread his arms out in a ‘I don’t know’ fashion. “Your choice, Clint.”

“Your choice, Clint.” Clint meandered further into the kitchen, fingers smudging over the stainless steel fridge door. “Your choice, Clint.”

Parotting days weren’t particularly hard days for Clint. It didn’t mean he was any less or more cooperative but Phil knew enough about Clint that he was a bit less focused and would need more help than normal. 

That was perfectly fine, Phil truly lived for these moments. 

“We need some more pictures hm?” Phil commented. Big Clint always got bashful about his artwork displays. He would take them down and Phil would stow them away as the treasures they truly were. Phil had his own little book where he kept and held each piece dearly. “Maybe can draw today, would you like that?”

Clint turned around and nodded earnestly. His face fell as he caught sight of the marks he’d left on the reflective metal. 

“Oops.” He pushed his finger against the metal once more beside a smudge he’d made successfully creating another. “Oops, Daddy.”

“It’s okay Clint. We’ll clean it up after you’re all clean.”

Washing his face went slightly better than it did after his midnight dinner but he wasn’t sleepy so it’s was a lot more whining and squirming away from Phil rather than closer to him. 

Once Clint was slightly less prone to sticking to things Phil cut him free and started the endless game of ‘clean up’. Big or Little the agent didn’t excel at the art of putting things away when done. Clint had dragged a barn set in front of the TV and was dancing in place as he waited for it to be turned on. 

“Kipper.” Phil rose his brow and Clint self corrected. “Please!”

Phil cued up the television and patiently sat with Clint until the farm was set up in a satisfactory manner before he got the kitchen put back together. Clint was chattering at himself in other room the same way he did when he was Big and stuck of comms waiting to take his shot. 

One-sided conversations were the Clint speciality and Phil never minded (unless they were on hour four of Agent Barton rambling on about every breed of dog he knows of and which are best to hang out with, then maybe Phil put a ‘quiet on the comms’ order out). After he was finished with clean up he was at Clint’s side, joining the world of talking farm animals. 

Clint grew tired of his farm after a few hours and came back with a metal car and some dinosaurs. Phil wanted to buy him more toys but space was limited and Clint never really expressed wanting anything new. Phil stuck to holidays for a new toy and so far that worked fine for them.

Eventually TV and toys no longer held Clint’s interest. He dropped his dinosaur and crawled into Phil’s lap looking up at him with bright blue eyes. “Color?”

Phil smiled down at Clint, unable to shake that pride in him asking for what he wanted. Needs were one thing but thing but Clint had requested breakfast and an activity without Daddy giving him choices first. He pressed the Little against his chest and Clint clumsily wrapped his arm around him in a belated hug. 

“Of course you can color, bug. Daddy is so, so proud of you for asking.”

Clint hummed happily and they stayed embraced for a moment, fluffy blond hair tickling Phil’s nose. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.

Phil chuckled and pulled back to ask, “Crayons or colored pencils?”

Clint gave it a moment deliberation. “Paint.”

Phil nearly flinched. It had been a little while since the paint disaster but he could still see his bathroom, hallway and Clint covered in smears of supposedly washable bathtub paint. That ‘oops, Daddy’ had not been adorable as the ones from this morning. 

Phil hummed as he thought of the best way to proceed. It was a mistake to look at Clint however, any ounce of self-preservation (or apartment preservation) vanished under the innate need to please his Little. 

“Okay.”

Phil got out the fingerpaint and layered the table and floor around him with newspaper. “Remember, the paint goes on our hands and on the paper.” 

“Hands an’ on the paper,” Clint echoed in a grave voice that was clearly repetition rather than understanding. 

Phil accepted that the painting would end up in a mess and he was not disappointed but it was an easy day, no corner time or tantrums or tears. Just a wonderful piece of art drying on the counter, plenty of cuddles and some mac-and-cheese with hidden veggies in the cheese for dinner. 

Clint didn’t even fuss much about being on his pull up for bed. Phil felt good as he rubbed Clint’s back to help lull him to sleep. It was difficult to know how he’d wake up because it was such a sudden regression. Hopefully however he woke up he would be happy. Phil was already worried about the Big Clint conversation that would happen. 

Clint’s thumb was his mouth as he started to drop off and Phil didn’t have the heart to stop him. 

“Sweet dreams, little bird.” Phil kissed his hairline carefully. “Daddy loves you.”

The next morning Phil heard Clint get in the shower and not long afterward the smell of coffee wafted to him. He got up, dressed himself for the day and found Clint at the table frowning down at his tablet beside a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning Clint,” Phil greeted and Clint smiled up at him. The smile was fake however and his eyes were troubled. Phil missed the pure glee he’d seen in them yesterday when he was pouring the bucket of toys into the bathtub brimming with mountains of fluffy soap. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Phil knew Clint wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened yet. 

“I’m good, thanks Phil.” Clint gave him a small smile and then he looked thoughtful. “A concussion.”

Phil hesitated with a mug in his hand. “I’m sorry but did you just as for a concussion for breakfast?”

“No, we can tell the team I had a concussion and that was why I acted so…” he shrugged, but Phil could see the carefully controlled panic and the color creeping up his neck. “They don’t really gotta know.”

The conversation had arrived much sooner than expected and Phil hadn’t even had his coffee yet. 

“They already know.” It came out somewhat lamely, like he was admitting defeat. It felt like he was admitting guilt...probably because he was. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

Phil wished he hadn’t told them but at the time there hadn’t been any other option. Tony had figured it out already. 

“You promised.” Clint seemed genuinely hurt as he looked at Phil. He was drawing back, physically pulling away and that was killing Phil. He didn’t want Clint to withdraw, not with how much trust they’d gained. 

“I know I did, bug.”

“You said we wouldn’t tell until I was ready.” Clint didn’t seem soothed by the pet name, getting smaller instead of angry like Phil would have preferred. 

Phil blew out a breath, increasingly guilty. Angry Clint was on thing but knowing he’d caused the look of hurt on Clint’s face gut him more than he had expected. His own throat felt thick. 

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m sorry that I couldn’t have waited until you were ready. I’m sorry they found out without us talking first.” 

“You could’ve lied.” Clint wouldn’t look at him and Phil swallowed back the lump in his throat. “You should’ve lied and made something up. Now they know and-and they’re going to kick me off the team.”

“They’re your friends Clint, if anything they’re worried about you because of how upset you were that day. And the only people who didn’t know were Bruce and Tony.”

Phil hadn’t actually spoken with any of them since he left with Clint that afternoon but he knew better than to think his was team small minded enough to turn away Clint. Natasha and Steve bother already knew and they were opinionated enough to rival even Tony Stark — and that was saying something. Bruce was closer to Tony than he was anyone else but he had dealt with his own ostracizing for something out of his control. Phil didn’t think he would tolerate anyone trying to push Clint out because he was Little, not after the way he’d proved himself time and time again. 

Clint grimaced, eyes clouding further and Phil was tempted to ask what was wrong, beyond the team finding out. He was afraid to push too hard until he was certain Clint was feeling more comfortable about the Avengers all knowing. And more importantly until he forgave Phil for essentially betraying his confidence on something he knew had meant a lot of Clint. Phil wasn’t going to push Clint into talking until he was certain he was ready. 

“I just…” He trailed off and took a gulp of his coffee. “You promise they don’t hate me Phil? Promise promise?”

Sometimes, even when Clint was Big, he sounded so Little it took all of Phil’s self control to recognize it was him being vulnerable not him regressing. He wanted to cradle Clint’s face in his hands and kiss the tip of his nose because it made Little Clint smile even when he was frightened or near tears. 

Phil steepled his hands and looked at him, unwavering and solid which was what Clint was looking for right now. He needed a reassuring partner not a Daddy to comfort him right now.

“Clint you are the best sniper I know of, possibly the best in the world.” Clint always flushed when Phil complimented him but his chest always swelled with pride even if he didn’t realize it. “No one could ever dismiss your talent and your abilities because of your Classification. The Avengers wouldn’t ever do that you because they care about just as much as you care about them. I promise you that, Clint. I promise promise.”

Clint picked up the cup of coffee as silence settled between them. He seemed to mull that over for a bit, slowly relaxing a bit in front of him. He no longer seemed to be trying to vanish from sight, unwinding a bit and breathing more deeply. Phil thought about making omelets. He wished Clint could have been Little for a bit longer if only to keep him from this not-so-comfortable moment of exposure. 

“Competency concerns are a real thing,” he finally said and Phil’s jaw ticked at mere mention. “It only takes one, y’know, for them to start lookin’ at me an’ if I mess it up...”

Competency concerns were the biggest threat to a Little because they put limitations on what they could and couldn’t do. Licenses were often revoked because of them and too often they were used to maintain control and keep Littles from certain career paths. 

“That won’t happen.” Phil told him solemnly.

Phil didn’t make promises he couldn’t uphold often. But he didn’t think that Tony would do something so rash, not without consulting with the rest of team or with Fury. Nick was a lot of things but predictable wasn’t one. He had said if he ever felt Clint was becoming a liability he would be out of SHIELD. It hadn’t been said in anger but more of a promise of protection, even if neither Clint or Phil saw it. However Nick and Phil were close and he wouldn’t do anything without talking to him first. 

“We can talk to them, you know. Just get them together and make sure that they know nothing changes.” Phil suggested.

“No,” Clint shook his head immediately starting to retreat once more. “I just… No, Phil, please.”

“Okay Clint, whenever you’re ready.” He reached over to squeeze Clint’s hand. “I’m sorry that this all happened so quickly.” 

Clint squeezed his hand back. “‘s okay. Like you said, they were gonna find out eventually. It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. And I’m sorry I said I hated you. I don’t.” Clint looked down guiltily. 

Phil had almost forgotten about that. “I know honey, it wasn’t a good day was it?”

Clint shook his head. “Does Stanford know?”

“He might, it’s in your file.” Clint whimpered. “But even if he does he won’t tell anyone. He’s actually a good guy when you’re not shooting arrows at him.”

“I did it for Tasha,” Clint reminded him as if somehow it redeemed it. 

“So you did.”

Work consequences didn’t come home so Phil let it lie there. When they were back in the office they would talk about it. Clint looked up at Phil and then down again suddenly seeming guilty. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I woke up this morning and um…” 

Clint pulled his hand back, shoulders pulled forward and chest tucked to his chest. Phil imagined him folding his knees to his chest the way he did when he was frightened and Little but Clint held out and clung to his Big side. He released a shaking breath and spoke in a rush that wasn’t exactly understandable.

“Ididn’tmeant’an’itjus’sortahappenedan’Igotallcleanedupan’stuffbutitgotont’bed.”

Phil allowed himself a beat to try and sort through it himself. He could see that Clint was embarrassed and uncomfortable so he didn’t want to draw out whatever it was unless absolutely necessary. 

“I’m sorry Clint but I didn’t understand what you said,” he finally admitted regretfully. “A little bit slower, please. You know that no matter what it is I won’t be angry.”

Clint groaned sharply and refused to look at him but the flush travelling up his neck darkened. He huffed out a breath that was probably meant to calm him but he just made him out to be irritated. 

“I had an accident.” He finally grumbled and Phil waited for the rest of what he’d said to be translated but Clint no longer seemed interested in telling him. 

“It’s okay Clint,” Phil wasn’t going to push him on the ‘accidents’ issue after the tough talk they’d already had. “I heard you getting in the shower this morning, I thought you might have.”

Clint did not seem at all comforted by his response. He seemed downtrodden that Phil had noticed. 

“How about we go back to potty reminders? Maybe that’s why you had the accident at the work.” Phil was certain if that was true but it was worth a shot at the very least.

Clint glanced up at him. “Can we?” 

He seemed relieved at the prospect and Phil wondered if he was wearing anything beneath his jeans currently, should an accident happen but he doubted it. 

“We absolutely. We’re not expect into work until tomorrow so today can be whatever you want it to be,” Phil glanced toward the kitchen. “So, breakfast?”

“‘m not hungry,” Clint picked up the tablet, distant again. “I have texts from them but I’m scared to open it, isn’t that dumb?”

Phil was a bit surprised by the fact they’d sent him messages but didn’t let it show. “It’s not dumb at all. You don’t need to read their messages unless you’re ready.”

Clint nodded but didn’t say anything more on it. After a moment when he was certain Clint didn’t have any other concerns he wanted to air, Phil went to get a bowl of fruit from yesterday’s breakfast leftovers. After a moment of debate he filled a second bowl and set it beside Clint. Phil almost asked where Clint’s phone was because the archer rarely used the fancy tablet given to him by Tony and remembered that it had been in his owner during his accident and was in Phil’s room for when Clint was Big. 

The operating system on the tablet was superb from a technological standpoint but not quite as user friendly as Clint’s phone was. Too many options frustrated him, the elaborate displays overwhelmed him, the inner coding needed to change settings because it needed to be secure for their server was too much for him and Clint didn’t like to ask for help so it often sat around collecting dust. 

“Will you read them first?”

Phil had been letting Clint fiddle with the device while he read up on a conflict in Bosnia that was probably nothing but seemed a bit suspicious. A healer who was claiming to have a Godly touch was trying to overthrow churches. Maybe it was nothing but there was the chance it was something. 

“The messages?” Phil asked, setting the paper aside.

Clint nodded and looked a bit frustrated about having to ask. “I just… I want to know but I know I won’t look by myself. So can you just do it?”

Phil nodded and took the tablet and scanned the messages. 

N: If you need to talk, rendezvous at evac point 

Steve: Hey Clint, I know you had a tough time the other day but I know Phil’s probably taking care of you right now. If you need anything all give me a call. Relax and don’t worry okay? All that mission stuff can wait. We’ll hold down the fort until you’re back. PS - try not to get into anymore paint 

UNKNOWN [maybe: Bruce?]: This is Bruce Banner. I hope it’s okay I got your number from you know who (she says if I use her name over text she’ll have to kill me. I imagine she’s just kidding but safe is better than sorry). I don’t want to invade your privacy but I hope our presence didn’t upset you. Steve tells me you had some stuff going on before the meeting but just know that I didn't mean to intrude or cause any further upsets. Classifications do not matter to me and you were under no obligation to tell us no matter what Tony may say. You are one of the toughest agents I’ve ever met and a hero I am honored to know. I hope this message wasn’t too intrusive. Take care, Agent Barton. I hope to see you soon. 

Tony Stark: to the grown up Barton - first of all I am ASTOUNDED you kept this from us for this long. But bravo Barton, you hide it well. All joking aside, it does suck you didn’t trust us enough to tell us but that’s your prerogative and now we know. Long story short Legolas, I don’t give a shit what your Class is, I shouldn’t have said that on the plane *insert apology that would be satisfactory for you here*. Now onto the important stuff. You and Coulson don’t have an excuse not to enjoy this dysfunctional mess of a team at my wonderful Tower where you have an apartment WAITING for you now. So, when you’re feeling all grown up come and check it out. Bring Daddy with you (too soon? I’m not sorry). 

Tony Stark: to the little?kid?small? Barton - secret’s don’t make friends. But I forgive you. Be good or whatever.

Sam: hey man, I heard that some stuff happened on base. If you want to chat lmk. Here if you need me.

“How bad is it?” Clint was practically trembling on spot with nerves and Phil smiled comfortingly. 

“Not bad at all Clint. They were just making sure you were okay.” Exactly as Phil had expected from his team and he was just as proud as ever. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Clint buried his face in his arms. “They think I’m a baby because I cried.”

“No, they think you were upset because you cried,” Phil corrected. “They wanted to give you space until you feel better but they also want to see you.”

“Not Tony,” Clint mumbled, “He won’t want me there.”

“Tony wants you to come by the Tower and see the apartment.” Phil replied pleasantly. He was actually quite pleased with man’s message to Clint even if it was a bit tasteless at points. Clint stared at him in open disbelief so Phil read all the messages. Afterward Clint seemed dazed. “See? Everyone misses you Clint and they all wanted to make you sure you okay.”

Clint looked flabbergasted and just cheeks dusted with a blush. “I… He really sent a message to me — to Little me?” Clint seemed truly astounded by this and Phil was equal parts relieved and pleased. 

He hadn’t realized that Tony’s opinions meant so much to him but clearly it did. Phil couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he watched Clint fight between trying to seem indifferent to being accepted because he deserved it and pleased as punch at the fact Iron Man would take the time to send a separate message to Little Clint. Phil felt a lot more confident in the team knowing now. 

“Would you want to live in the Tower, Clint?” 

Phil had meant to bring it up sooner but without the team knowing about Clint being Little it would have been an immediate no. Clint folded into himself again and Phil frowned to himself. A misstep, maybe. Was he asking too much, too soon? Nick has gotten wind of the invitation and was ecstatic to have Phil closer to headquarters and in a more secure location. It would be a good chunk of money they could divert to other funds if they weren’t paying as much as they were for the insane security requirements for this apartment that really, wasn’t all that big for the $4,300 plus a month. But money meant nothing in comparison to Clint comfort and safety. That always came first. 

“I dunno yet,” Clint running his fingers through his hair nervously. He didn’t like to be put on the spot and Phil frowned in apology giving his hand another squeeze. “If… I’d only do it if you’d come too, Daddy. Tony said you could, right? You’d come with me, Daddy?”

Phil nodded, his heart breaking at how desperate and frightened Clint was. Clint had truly thought that Phil would send him to live in the Tower alone. He wrapped his arms tightly around Clint who pressed his face against his neck. His hair was still damp from the shower but Phil didn’t mind. He loved his little bird so much and knowing the loved him back with the same ferocity was a reward he felt he hadn’t earned but would cherish for the rest of his day. 

“Of course I’d come with you, little bird. Who’s going to take care of my favorite Clint if Daddy isn’t there?” Phil’s voice was a bit thick but Clint just kissed his cheek and smiled gleefully. 

“I’m your only Clint!”

Phil made a faux gasp. “That’s why you’re special, Clinty-bug.”

He poked Clint’s sides until he giggled and giggled, a beautiful sound of absolute bliss.

“W-Wait Daddy,” Clint panted through his giggles and then suddenly sobered up. “Phil I gotta go potty.” 

Phil got to his feet trying to hustle the boy toward the bathroom. He was shuffling however whining lowly and mumbling that he couldn’t hold it. 

“‘s too late,” Clint’s voice cracked and he began to sob. Phil had hurried ahead to open the door but looked back hearing his words.

He expected him to folded over hiding his groin but he wasn’t wet. It was an Uh-Oh accident and Clint always took those the absolute worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I would love any comments about how you feel about the story so far. And, as always always, I hope you liked it!


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint comes to terms with himself and finally asks for what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s a long one but I hope you all like it! 
> 
> also, forgive me for me fake technology knowledge!

Clint’s first shower was bad enough for him to suffer through with a wet bed and all, but this one was just mortifying. A wet bed sucked but this sucked times a billion. 

And Phil saying it was okay didn’t actually make it okay, although he seemed to think it did.

Clint scrubbed his skin aggressively until it was pink. Then he started to clean his private areas. He had a rash starting lying in the wet bed last night, his skin was horribly sensitive and he had always hated it. Whether it was his uniform or a new type of detergent or staying just a little too long in a wet pull up he ended up with a rash. Clinf hadn’t put any of the cream on it because he stupid and didn’t pay attention to those things as much anymore. This expectation that Phil would just magically know and tend to it without him saying a word had been programmed into him from the way Phil cared for him.

Clint wanted to bang his head against the wall he was so frustrated with himself. He couldn’t understand why his body was failing him lately and why it had be like this. 

Showers were only supposed to be fifteen minutes and he knew that but he also couldn’t move. He was stuck in place, staring up at the water streaming in his face. Just a few minutes before the accident Clint had felt happy. He so foolishly thought that he would be okay because he had Phil and Phil could keep him safe from anything bad happening. 

Now he knew better. 

There was an urge to cry, maybe kick something or flop to the shower floor and scream until Phil came in and made it all better that lurked around the back of his head. Clint blinked away the tears and told himself it was just shower water getting his eyes. He wasn’t Little, he wasn’t going to act like he was. 

Phil couldn’t make it all better because they were accidents and accidents happened. But Big Clint was having too many accidents and he knew it was bad. Phil wouldn’t get angry, but he was probably disappointed and definitely annoyed. It was more work for a man who put himself out and rarely got a moment to recharge. Loads of laundry was not an ideal break, Caregiver or not. 

Clint was mostly disappointed and annoyed with himself. 

When Phil opened the shower door a bit to get his attention, Clint wanted to hide. Instead he glanced down at Phil’s hands to see what he wanted to say. He figured if he didn’t look him in the eye he wouldn’t see the pity or worse, anger. 

‘OK?’ 

It wasn’t prying or overly elaborate. He was willing to step back and let Clint work through it however he needed. 

Clint swallowed hard before he signed (and lied) ‘Yes’. Lying to Phil was difficult because he was so bad at it. He could see through Clint no matter what. Clint wasn’t sure why he even bothered to try as grabbed a bottle of shampoo he’d already used just to keep his hands busy. 

Phil definitely knew he wasn’t being completely truthful because he hesitated a moment watching Clint stare at the corner of the shower and turn the bottle over in his hands. It took every ounce of Clint’s self control not to peek at Phil’s face to see if he was frowning or at his hands to see if he was talking to him. Phil didn’t linger long however, nor did he try to gain Clint’s attention purposely to press for honestly. Instead the shower door was closer and Phil gave Clint space. 

But without Phil waiting there he felt strangely abandoned. It didn’t make sense and that frustrated Clint. The urge to be left alone to sulk had made him lie to Phil but now...he wasn’t sure if he wanted this after all. 

It hadn’t been like this before he met Phil. Most times life was better and Clint knew that. He was happy and safe here. Before Phil he had been guarded, certain that trusting anyone was a recipe for disaster. So long as he had his own back, he’d be fine. Phil had somehow managed to unroot that entire belief system and Clint hadn’t even realized how significant the support had become. 

It was terrifying to realize how dependent he was getting, how this part of him that had kept such careful control over was now festering and growing. He didn’t know if he was capable of pulling away now, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t imagine his life without Phil and that opened up for a kind of vulnerability he told himself wouldn’t happen after he and Barney’s explosive end. 

Now Clint’s body was failing him and what if he stopped being good at his job? What if he had accident in the field and Tony really did file a competency concern? What if Phil did? 

He hadn’t asked to be Little and he hadn’t asked for a Daddy. When he was in the barracks he took care of himself just fine. On occasion when he was hurting or upset then he woke up to a wet bed but Clint cleaned himself up then and he didn’t cry about it. No one needed to know and he was able to deal with it like an adult because he was an adult. He didn’t need someone to tell him it was okay and that accidents happened.

Now he did and that was scary. 

A hand waved in his peripheral vision catching his attention. He was standing there, pathetic and dejected under the spout still holding the bottle in his hands. 

‘Bathroom’ Phil signed at him, once and then twice when Clint looked dumbly at him with a confused shrug. He hadn’t even noticed the frosted glass sliding open too caught up his own sulking. The the sign clicked and Clint looked down, petrified he’d had an accident and hadn’t realized. His rabbiting pulse slowed a bit when he realized that wasn’t the case but he was still confused. He tilted his head in a ‘what’ motion for further clarification.

Phil slid the door open further and gestured to the toilet. Clint glanced at it with a deep seated loathing that was most definitely an overreaction. He was just upset he hadn’t made it and also about every other time he hadn’t made it. 

Clint frowned, thinking back to when he had been happy this morning. It hadn’t been that long ago but he still felt like it was ages in the past, his thoughts running through his mind at a thousand miles per hour. He had diluted himself into believing all his worries were behind him when really they were still right there. All the issues were still there because they were Clint. 

Clint was the issue. 

‘I WENT’ 

Clint knew how red his face was. He didn’t understand why Phil wanted him more humiliated and he also wasn’t sure when it got so humiliating because Phil never made a big deal about it. Clint suspected it was because he was Big and it kept happening and he didn’t know why. 

Phil nodded his head and then signed bathroom again, more insistently. He pointed to his watch and then the toilet. Oh right, the bathroom reminders. Leave it to Clint to forget about the goddamn reminders too! Maybe he really was hopeless without Phil.

Rather than signing back he dropped his face into his hands, utterly mortified at this point. “I don’t have to go.” he finally muttered, praying his voice wasn’t too loud. 

At first he was hopeful Phil would accept that and leave him to mope some more but when he peered through his fingers he saw Phil had merely crossed his arms, unwavering as ever. With the way his lips had thinned it practically screamed disappointment. It crushed him because he didn’t want to disappoint Phil, he didn’t want to be bad and make him regret letting him be his Little but he was. He couldn’t make his Big side be big enough and that was a problem whether Phil said it or not.

Anger still simmered inside him however. Getting mad was a lot easier than being Big and actually taking responsibility.

“Fucking fine!” Clint snapped and turned off the water. 

Stepping out the stall, Clint snatched up his hearing aids and jammed them into his ears hard enough that he had to suppress the cringe of pain. Mirroring Phil’s expression he folded his arms across his chest, standing there absolutely fuming but still reluctant to look up at Phil and see if his Caretaker was upset at him for swearing. 

“Clint, you asked me to do this,” it was his Caregiver tone, not necessarily belittling him but it definitely took away a significant chunk of Clint’s authority on the matter. Clint would have preferred to speak to him as Phil, he decided. He wanted sympathy not pity. “I would really like it if you’d try.”

The game of wills was lost the second Phil started using the ‘I’ phrases. Why it took away his need to dig his heels in and resist baffled Clint, Big or Little. Whatever the mechanics or psychological reasoning that made it work, he was always rendered docile afterward. Clint was willing to do anything asked of him when he used it so with a meek nod, there was already an apology begging to come forth and fix his less than ideal attitude. 

Narrowly the urge to the spew that forward was suppressed as Clint stood there dripping wet and miserable.

Phil took a towel from the shelf and it wasn’t the purple one that Clint liked best. His mood soured further. Maybe this was Phil’s way of punishing him for swearing.

“I can do it,” he found himself insisting as Phil was patting him dry even though he clearly had the chance to do so earlier and hadn’t. 

“I know you can.”

Phil was a Saint for not calling him out, especially when he was being such a dick for no real reason, gently urging Clint to step onto the bath mat as he dried him off. Taking the corner of the towel in hand, Phil gently wiped the water from his face. Clint couldn’t really avoid looking at him now. Phil didn’t seem upset by his attitude, even smiling at him in that honest way that made crinkles appear at the corners of his warm brown eyes. 

Clint’s face scrunched up a bit the soft fabric tickling his nose and he sneezed. “Bless you,” Phil said just as sweetly as if he had been nice and not awful and yell-y.

It was hard to worry about as Clint felt tension seeping from him. Phil patted his hair dry and started on his torso.

“That was a long shower — you’re all wrinkly.” Phil ran the pad of his thumb over the pruned tips of Clint’s fingers. 

A smile slipped across Clint’s face without his permission and Phil saw it his own smile growing even more in triumphant. 

Clint managed to clamp down on it and looked moodily toward the washing machine that was humming quietly and unobtrusively, mocking everything he’d accomplished. 

“Potty,” Phil reminded him when he was dry, giving him a gentle nudge in the direction. “Five minutes, okay? I’d like it if you could just try for me.”

“This is dumb,” he said but he relented because yeah, he could do it for Phil.

“It’s good practice,” Phil said evenly as he started to dry the water droplets that had made it to the floor rather than the bathmat. “What if we watched a movie today? Anything in particular that you’ve wanted to see?”

Clint thought curling up beside Phil and watching some kind of scary film sounded nice, especially after this morning. 

“Yeah okay,” 

He hoped it’d been five minutes already but when he glanced toward Phil for confirmation of this, the Caretaker shook his head. Clint adjusted his footing with a sigh feeling ridiculous. 

“I’ll go grab you some clothes.” 

Clint bobbed his head. This was without a doubt the was longest five minutes of his entire life! With all of his concentration the ‘Amazing Hawkeye’ managed nothing but a weak dribble from his empty bladder. Once more he wondered if he was as really SHIELD material much less worthy of standing beside the Avengers.

Dumb, he thought again, a complete waste of time because it wasn’t as if was completely lost when it came to understanding his own body all the time. Clint knew when he had to go it was just the time between knowing and going that the issue but he could train himself the same he has trained himself to perform operations due torture or starvation or dehydration or injured. Clint could make a perfect shot after seventy two hours of no food or water in freezing conditions; this would be a piece of cake.

When Phil came back he turned eagerly to get dressed and frowned when he saw him reaching into the cupboard where the pull ups were kept. Jaw tightening up against him whining ‘no’, Clint took a moment to come at it from a Big standpoint. Today Clint was Big and that meant he shouldn’t need to wear protection. 

“Phil.”

Clint wasn’t whining intentionally, he was just insisting but maybe his voice was a little loud because Phil looked startled. His Caregiver reached over and adjusted the volume. Clint wanted to shy away from the ‘babying’ action (he was Big, he could set his own volume, thanks) but the adjustment made the muffled ringing he hadn’t really noticed go away. 

“I don’t need it,” Clint said at what probably a more reasonable level because Phil didn’t flinch this time. 

“Little bird — ” Phil began, straightening up and looking at him in that too soft way...like he was Little and about to throw a fit because it was nap time and he really, really didn’t want to sleep.

“No, I’m Big.” Clint’s tone was far too defensive, he was overreacting. 

His face colored and Phil ignored the outburst, setting the offensive item on top of the clothes. 

“Please, Phil.” Clint tried to come at from a more pleading level. It felt like it’d been ages since he had a normal Big day. This win, he needed. “I don’t need it today, really.”

Phil appeared to be assessing him, standing quietly with a passive expression the archer recognized rom when he returned from an op and said he was fine but Phil thought he wasn’t. The handler would always check him over for injury and then for a lie within what he’d said to find the best way to bring him to medical while making Clint think it was his idea. 

“It’s your choice,” Phil said finally and took Clint by surprise. 

“Really?” 

Probably not the best move in convincing Phil that he was confident in ability to read his own body without incident but the giddy feeling of getting his way kept that from mind.

“Really,” Phil confirmed. “But I do think it’s a good idea to have protection, just in case.”

Good feelings vanished and Clint was left feeling miffed. Phil ‘giving him a choice’ was really not that — if he had accident it would be an ‘I told you so’ that would prove how incapable he was now. But wearing it was like admitting defeat. 

Just a year or two ago, it wasn’t a big deal. It was there but he didn’t really use it. Now if it was there (and apparently when it wasn’t) that part of his brain just switched off. Clint expressed his indecision in the matter with a huff of frustration. Clint had realized how much looked to Phil for guidance. Usually it felt good, something he never had to worry about because Phil always knew what he needed. But now… Now was afraid he’d given up so much of his power he didn’t have any left and could no longer could make these choices himself.

“You choose.” Clint was sulking now but he didn’t care. He was allowed to sulk no matter what headspace he was in, thank you very much.

“Okay, if you want me to make the choice for you,” Phil paused to let Clint take it back if so chose. Clint didn’t, his scowl just deepened. “I think a pull up for the morning is a good idea. I don’t like to see my favorite Clint so upset.” 

Clint’s cheeks colored wanting to hug Phil and thank him for putting up with him and also to cry about the accident some more and mourn the loss of himself. Ignoring both options Clint kept his head up, didn’t whine, and asked for the help that he felt at this point he needed as much as he wanted it. Only Phil knew how to pull the collar of his shirt over his head without the awful sound of fabric over his aids or the paralyzing fear of being without sight. Phil helped him get dressed and even applied cream on the startings of the rash without Clint needing to ask. Again Clint is was floored by how well Phil cared for him. Even when he was less than agreeable or had an accident , Phil was there; a constant, an unwavering force of protection that Clint was really grateful to have. 

He settled down to watch the movie Phil had picked because Clint didn’t want to make that choice either. Phil picked a scary movie anyway (but not too scary, Clint didn’t like jump scares). Clint felt kind of drained so he curled up with his head on Phil’s chest. Gentle fingers carded through his hair and Clint wished he could stay forever feeling like did now: warm, comfortable and loved. Shaking the feeling he didn’t deserve it was another story all together.

“‘m sorry about the accident.” 

Pushing the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip, Clint fought the compulsive need to let it slip into his mouth. Somehow sucking his thumb made everything so much easier to deal with even though it was stupid and babyish.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Clint waited for him to tell him not to apologize for accidents like he always did. “Don’t fret about things you can’t help.”

Clint’s forehead furrowed with confusion, thumb slipping into his mouth as he tried to sort through what that could mean. Phil saw but didn’t stop him, he just kissed the top of his head and said he loved him. That made it all so much easier to deal with and his thumb slipped from his lips. 

Clint would just have to make sure it didn’t happen again. 

[ oOo oOo ]

Clint wasn’t avoiding the team when he got on base the next day, he was just busy. 

If he made sure he was busy in places he knew none of the Avengers were going to be that was just coincidence and he would swear that to a judge and jury. He alternated his desk a few times an hour as he puttered through backlogs and stupid request forms that he usually left to pile up until he and Phil sat down to work through them together because Phil was tired of getting emails about missing forms from the other departments. 

But now Clint didn’t have an excuse to ask Phil to help him with them because he had three days to work through something that would probably have taken a normal person three hours. Clint didn’t linger on that though. If his handler wanted to waste his time and SHIELD’s time that was perfectly fine by him. It didn’t help that he kept losing focus and that he knew this was a punishment. That bit of knowledge niggled around in his brain, abrasive and unpleasant. 

All of that disappeared when he went home however. He and Phil made soup together and played Uno for actual chips (the cheesy kind: Clint was absolutely ecstatic). Finally, finally, they finished the chapter of the book and started a new one. 

On the day he was allowed back to the range and normal training Clint woke up dry and in high spirits. Busy focusing down on the timer in front of him, he realized someone had taken the treadmill beside him when he saw a flash of hair in the corner of his eye.

He glanced at Natasha who seemed ignore him as she set her own warm up pace. Good. Clint watched his time again, fourteen minutes becoming like a lifetime because he didn’t know what to say to her. 

He hadn’t ever not known what to say to Nat. 

“Are you pissed at me me?”

Clint turned his head toward her, confused. 

“Why would I be?”

She tied her hair back into a ponytail, notching up the pace. 

“Well you haven’t bothered me once in almost a week. Pretty sure that’s a record for you.” 

Clint was thankful he was already flushed. It was unlikely that Natasha actually meant to imply he annoyed her but he couldn’t shake the fear that maybe he did. Maybe he hung around her too much?

“I had a lotta catch up to do.” 

He set his jaw at his own admittance. He hadn’t wanted to talk about his unexpected time off but there it was, low hanging fruit to get to the heart of the conversation the assassin probably wanted to have.

“Sorry you got shit over the Stanford thing.” Natasha said after she was outpacing him. Clint had to focus on his breathing now. Cardio was the worse. “Coulson smoothed it over for the most part.”

Clint almost asked if she got in trouble but Agent Romanoff was not someone who was given pink slips and scolded by her handler. In a way that soured Clint’s feelings toward the whole instance all the more. They had the same level security clearance but he was still micromanaged at work. 

“Yeah.” Clint was puffing unevenly and renewed his focus on the in, one two three, out, one two three. “Lucky you.”

“You are pissed at me,” Natasha was side eyeing him now. “I feel bad I didn’t find your gun. I still technically owe you one.”

Clint mustered a breathless snort that he regretted as he found his breathing hitched and uneven in a way he couldn’t recover from. Damn it. He notched down the speed and the treadmill beeped at him angrily and added time. Fuck cardio and fuck SHIELD’s agent fitness requirements. Clint really hated cardio and he really hated this treadmill. 

“Maybe two,” Natasha nodded down at the screen and Clint set his jaw, exhaling. 

“How about none?” Clint felt sweaty and cranky. “I made my own choice Nat. Not a big deal. You don’t gotta…”

“Baby you?” Natasha grinned, all teeth and not at all sorry. “I don’t Barton. It’s not my job.”

He adjusted the speed back up. Seventeen minutes. Okay, he could do this. Natasha ran along beside him and when the time finally ran down and he was back to cool down pace, she spoke.

“I’m sorry if what happened was caused by me.” 

Clint was still letting his muscles loosen up, his heart rate slow and his breathing regulate. She really wasn’t going to quit. Clint almost missed the Nat that refused to even acknowledge she had emotions much less pried at others for theirs. He reached up, almost to put his thumb his mouth but caught himself and ruffled his sweaty hair instead. His side had a stitch in from his less than ideal workout. 

“I told you. No biggie.” Clint kept his head forward, easy and casual to make Natasha drop it.

Natasha was still running full force as she looked at him. She didn’t even appear winded. Clint sort of hated her for that.

“I heard you agreed to live in the Tower.” 

“Uh huh.” Clint stepped up on the sides of the treadmill as it slowed toward a stop. He had expected her to find out, she had a way of knowing everything. “Phil’s arranging it.”

“Did you actually want to or did Tony finally make you cave?” 

It never ceased to amaze Clint how Natasha somehow managed to break down his walls. She was good at disarming people. He didn’t realize he had been holding his shoulders so high until they were sagging. The fact he didn’t want to talk to her was overshadowed by how goddamn easy it was to talk to her.

“He kept talking about how great the shooting range is — I cant really walk away from that, can I?”

Natasha offered an easy smile. 

“Well I can tell you from experience it’s pretty great. He has all sorts of new toys down there too. I understand why he was such a big arms dealer, he makes my Widow Bites now and it’s drives R&D crazy.” 

“Really?” Clint was sure if they weren’t supposed to be using weapons that weren’t SHIELD certified and Tony Stark was not one to let other touch his things. “And Coulson lets you?”

“Oh he would probably pitch a fit. But you’re not going to tell on me or anything, right Barton?” She winked at him. Clint uttered a laugh of disbelief at her nerve. “I’ve been using them for months and Phil hasn’t noticed. Besides, who cares who makes them so long as the job gets done?”

“Your handler, I’d imagine.” Breathing was little easier. “Tony said he has ideas for more trick arrows.”

“I don’t doubt it, the guy spends nearly all his time in that lab.” Natasha looked down at the treadmill seeming bored. “And the gym equipment there is way better than here.”

Clint shook his head unable to hide his smile. “Is this your SHIELD sucks, the Avengers are better pep talk?”

“I don’t take sides, I only give the facts Clint. Besides I almost miss you pestering me all the time.”

“I don’t pester you.” Clint retorted immediately. “My presence is a gift and you’re welcome.”

“Well think of how easy it’ll be a gift me with your presence when we’re in the same building? It’ll be like being at barracks but with better shit.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Still up to you though, Clint. If you like where you’re at don’t let us push you into it.”

“No one is pushing me into anything. I’m not helpless.”

“I know that but sometimes I get worried you don’t know that.” Okay, that brought the casual talk to a screeching halt. “Things have been quiet lately but that’s bound to end. Can you deal with getting sent into the field alone?”

“What are you saying, Natasha?” Clint was getting a bit heated now. “I can take care of myself just fine. Always have. Don’t forget who took you down.”

“I won’t,” she said solemnly. “So long as you don’t forget who took me down.”

Clint looked down, wanted to feel anger boiling in the pit of his stomach the way it used to when people doubted his skills. Instead he felt his throat growing thick. He hadn’t lost himself, he hadn’t. 

“Screw you, I’m just as good of an agent as I was then.” Clint said quietly and he was proud his voice didn’t break. 

“Good.” Natasha said with as much venom. “Because you’re going to have to prove yourself all over again. Whether they want to admit it or not they’re going to take your Classification into account first and foremost. I don’t want you to get soft or wuss out.”

“You’re really shitty at this friend thing sometimes.” Clint managed, a minute too late, betraying his hurt.

“So I’ve been told.” Natasha hit the stop button. “I just don’t want people to get too used to cute Little Clint and completely forget you’re actually Clint Barton, one of the world’s best snipers. They don’t know that side of you so they’re going to do their damnedest to get to know it and that’s fine. It’s good actually. But try and remember that it doesn’t define you.”

She stepped off the treadmill and started toward the locker room. Clint stood there dumbly trying to process her hot-to-cold. 

Go talk to Phil, he thought immediately but maybe that him thinking as Clint and not Agent Barton. He took a deep steadying breath and started toward the weights. His wrist vibrated, a sensation he really hated, and he looked down at the smartwatch he typically refused to wear for that reason exactly. 

An alarm. Right. Every forty five minutes now because he and Phil had been working up the potty time reminders as he went through each day accident free. At nighttime all bets were off but that Clint could live with. He finished his workout and tried hard not be mad at Natasha. She hadn’t mean it to hurt his feelings and he knew that, it was her way of being nice. 

She probably thought she was helping. They were friends and she wanted him to move there — she had even said it. Besides, Clint was certain no one at the Tower needed to see that side of him, no matter how good their intentions were. It would change how they saw him even worse than knowing. 

“Something wrong with your lunch?” Steve asked as Clint pushed around the piece of chicken on his plate. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

He set the fork to the side and glanced at the clock. Phil was in back to back meetings until three and then he had paperwork to do for an op new agents had messed up. Clint was frustrated that he was this eager to go to him and see if Natasha was really still his friend. God, he was pathetic.

“Really? Do you want something else?” Steve glanced toward the sandwich bar. “Maybe peanut butter and jelly? You need to eat something.”

“I’ll grab something later on.”

Clint didn’t need to be micromanaged and treated like he was kid. Was this what living in the Tower would be? Never would he be able to do anything without someone tutting and asking if he was supposed to be. He had expected Steve to apply more pressure but he didn’t. He nodded his head and let him sit there and stare at the clock until his wrist vibrated. 

Phil ended up having ‘put out some fires’ so Clint took a cab home and felt lost. It was stupid to feel that way, walking from room to room like he was a stranger. Everything looked the same but it didn’t feel the same without Phil there. Eventually his stomach grumbled and he rooted through the cupboards. Faintly he could hear Phil reminding him not to get up on the counters but Clint wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the cupboard where the good stuff was kept so yeah, he crawled up on top of them. 

He was a highly trained agent, he could balance just fine. Plus he didn’t have anyone to ask help from — Phil wasn’t home. Chips, a package of Oreo cookies, the fancy Milano cookies that Phil liked, crackers and a unopened jar of hot fudge sauce that Clint had completely forgotten about. He snatched it and slipped back down to the floor. 

He could absolutely have an ice cream sundae for dinner because he hadn’t had one in ages and Phil was ‘putting out fires’ rather than making dinner and also, he was an adult and adults could eat ice cream for dinner. 

It was like Adulting 101. 

When the masterpiece had come together Clint was equal parts proud and sticky. Maybe his eyes were bigger than his stomach and he had gotten candied cherries on the counter and burnt his fingers a touch on the glass, but so what? He had only just settled down on the couch to watch TV when he heard the door open. His heart skipped a beat and he jumped, feeling a spurt of urine slip out. Clint scrabbled to the bathroom, annoyed at himself for forgetting to put the watch back on but jump scares always got him! Clint had sloshed the cherry juice over his hands fishing out some to top his sundae with so he had taken it off. 

The wet spot in his sweats was glaringly obvious as he stepped out of the bathroom, going to change, and almost smackdab into a less than thrilled Phil. His current expression was very much a ‘I know you didn’t submit that form that I told you a million times to do’ and that caught Clint off guard. 

“Hi?” Clint managed after a moment. “You’re home.”

Phil flickered a look over him, eyes softening a bit when he caught sight of his almost-accident. 

“Clint,” he paused drawing in a deep breath. “When I asked you if you’d be okay home alone this is not what I meant.”

“It wasn’t really an accident,” he defended. “I just got a little on my pants and you scared me.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose the way he did when Tony supplied bits of information about missions that Phil knew he had gotten from hacking into servers. 

“I don’t care if you had accident or not. I care about the kitchen being a mess and the ice cream on the couch.” Phil didn’t sound angry but Clint almost wished he did. 

“Well,” Clint began to interject but Phil held his hand up. 

“Where do we eat?”

Clint frowned, scorned. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Where do we eat?” Phil asked again.

What if they were living at the Tower and other people started to talk to him this too? Not just Phil and Steve which was tolerable because it was their nature but Tony or Nat or Bruce or Thor? Clint crossed his arms biting back the urge to cry. Pressure built up behind his eyes. It wasn’t fair that Phil was probably going to send him to corner and never ever let him have ice cream again. 

“Where do we eat, Clint?” Phil would just keeping asking and Clint knew that from experience.

“At the table.” Clint grit out. 

“Right. At the table,” Phil agreed. “Why didn’t you sit at the table?”

“Because.” Clint folded his arms over his chest. “I’m an adult and if I want to eat on the couch it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“I am also an adult and I prefer it if everyone eats at the table. We agreed on that, in case you forgot. No food in bed or on the couch. When you set down the bowl to get to the bathroom it fell over.” Clint made a mad dash to fix it but of course Phil had already gotten it. “I don’t like it when things get ruined in avoidable situations.”

Clint stood awkwardly in the living room well aware of the overwhelming abundance that said he’d fucked up but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It had been a stupid idea and poorly executed to boot. 

“You weren’t here,” Clint mumbled. “and, I dunno, I think I was kind of… Little? But not really.”

“Like you were between headspaces?” Phil no longer sounded disappointed just concerned. “If you were feeling that way you should have told me, little bird. I can’t always sense these things if I don’t see you.”

“No. It was weird,” Clint glanced down. “I almost had an accident when I heard you come in. Like I knew I was being bad.”

“You weren’t being bad, Clint. You weren’t in the right headspace to be alone and that’s on me.”

“No it’s not that.” Clint felt frustrated again but he was Big. “It’s not you, Phil. I dunno why I’ve been so off lately. Maybe it’s been since I cut down my Little days? I know I said a week a month was good but maybe my brain is all outta whack because of it? Is that a thing?”

“Of course it is. I agree that once a month isn’t enough time and I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. The slight regression at night should have been a sign to me that you weren’t having your needs met.”

Clint felt even worse. “I’m sorry, Phil. I don’t want to be needy and you’ve got much more important thing things to do than deal with me.”

Phil pulled against his chest and Clint melted into the embrace. “You are the most important thing in my life. And if you think for a second I don’t enjoy taking care of my favorite Clint you are sorely mistaken. We’re going to set up a new schedule for you, alright?”

“Alright.”

Clint had finally asked for what he didn’t want to need and Phil had not only given it to him but he’d done so willingly. God, what he must have done in the past life to deserve Phil. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders and Clint felt good again. 

But… “Are you mad at me? About-about the mess and the couch?”

“No, Clint.” Phil said with his usual absolute certainty that Clint couldn’t help but question with a pleading look that said ‘really?’. “I was a bit frustrated about the couch but it can be replaced. The kitchen can be cleaned. You’re the only thing in this apartment that can’t be replaced.”

[ oOo oOo ]

Clint was excited and frightened at knowing he was leaving the first Home he’d had. Because of Clint’s inability (and refusal) to tell him, Phil had been the one to tell Tony that they had accepted the invitation to move in. Tony was very glad to hear it per Phil. 

Clint pointedly hadn’t talked to Bruce or Tony yet which wasn’t very difficult to do because they were rarely, if ever, at headquarters. Steve and Nat showed up like bad pennies. Steve kept reminding him that no one thought less of him which was nice and all but Clint wasn’t ready to face any of it right now. Even if they swore nothing would change on how he was treated Clint had to doubt that. How could they ignore it?

Phil had thought the best way to get Clint feeling more like himself was to have him spend Friday evenings and Sundays Little which have him Saturday to do as he pleased. Steve was, according to Phil, thrilled to spend Friday nights with him if Phil has work stuff come up which was happening more and more as issues with the Inhumans revved up. Clint didn’t mind that at all, Steve was great.

Phil brought him to the Tower for a group dinner and to tour their new place a few days before they officially would move in. Clint was antsy but Big, thank God, he thought to himself as he tried to avoid letting his own anxieties sour what should have been a fun event. They were his friends, damnit, they had sent him nice things after his meltdown. That couldn’t have been all lies. Besides, Tony wouldn’t have let him move in if he didn’t actually want him around. But for whatever reason no matter how he reasoned it out he was still terrified. 

Phil was all smiles and reassurance regardless. 

Things felt eerily normal or maybe a little forced if Clint was to be honest. The weirdest thing being they were all there, actually there, without Tony working on some project on the side or Bruce frowning distractedly as he got swept up his own thoughts. It was all weird smiles that belonged at press events, not here. Eating together was strange but Clint not saying a word was equally out of the norm.

“Why’s this place got so many floors?” Clint had to break the silence.

Admittedly it was not the most imaginative of questions but once Tony got chatting the others tended to loosen up and once Natasha was acting more comfortable, Clint could too. 

“Funny story actually. New York tried to tell me ‘no, you can only build a commercial building up to a certain height’ so I said, fuck you, make it residential and make it taller.” Tony seemed triumphant. “And now it is considered a historical landmark.”

“And here I was thinking you were competing with the Baxter Building,” Steve said dryly. 

Clint snorted and Tony looked wounded. “That’s below the belt, Rogers.” He sniffed and glanced at Bruce. “Besides we’re a million times smarter than that asshat, Richards.”

“Reed is actually very intelligent,” Phil supplied. “So is Susan and Johnny though he is more focused on, ah, other things.”

Clint had met them a handful of times. Typically conflicts didn’t require two super teams but during the New York clean up he had watched a freakishly long arm catch falling debris that probably would’ve made him into a Clint pancake. It was still surreal to remember that he was considered part of a super team. 

“Et tu?” Tony said sadly with a headshake. “He’s reckless, even more than me. Pepper even says so.” 

“Well if Miss Potts says it than it must be true than.” Phil agreed if only to make the cocky billionaire frown a bit. “Imagine what you two could accomplish together.”

“Oh probably the end of times,” Clint suggested.

Bruce nodded quickly. “I imagine they’d be quite reactive. Either they’d get far too overzealous or they’d be too pigheaded to get anything done.” 

It felt kind of nice to have someone as smart as Bruce agree with him. 

“Oh and I’m sure the Hulk just loves the Thing right?” Tony shot back. 

Bruce smiled wearily and Clint wondered if they’d met. While he was away on missions others defended the city (and the world, at times). “Point taken.” Bruce said agreeably though there may have been a glint of green in his eyes. 

“I happen to find Susan tolerable,” Natasha said which was a huge compliment coming from the Widow. “Johnny is a bit much, for my tastes.”

“He’s a bit much for everyone’s tastes.” Bruce nodded his head.

Clint hadn’t actually met him before but he knew enough that he was the Torch. “That bad?” He asked glancing at Phil.

“He’s a handful, definitely not bad.” Steve said immediately. “I haven’t met him personally save for that one time — ”

“Where he thought it’d be hysterical to try and melt your shield to the ground and melted the cement on 4th and Wilson instead? Oh yeah, not bad at all.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Unless you’re picking up the bill for damages.”

“The food is good,” Phil said, changing the conversation topic. “This is such a lovely braise on the lamb. I’ll have to steal the recipe. Getting Clint to eat anything that isn’t pizza or something full of sugar is quite the hassle.”

And there it was: Clint’s Class being tossed out into the open. He felt vulnerable, shrinking back a bit at the perceived criticism. Also, yuck, this was lamb?

“Thank you,” Steve blushed a bit at the compliment. “Clint always liked it when I made it so I thought it would be a good welcome meal.”

“It’s good,” Clint agreed, not quite able to look at him or the lamb he knew for a fact Steve once said was beef. But it’d be childish to throw a fit so he tucked it into the back of his head to complain about later. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Clint could tell he had to hold himself back from praising him for his use of manners. 

“Okay well I had this beautiful tower made that we’re all going to be living in,” Tony interjected.

Clint smiled. “And of course I thank you too. It’s fantastic.”

Tony grinned cheekily at Steve as the tension that had buffered around them began to dissolve. Clint could breathe easy.

“Hear that Cap? I got fantastic and you only got ‘good’.” Tony sounded smug,

Steve shook his head and Clint snorted at their antics. Dinner felt easy after that, even Bruce spoke up about the rooftop pool verses the one on the training floor. After dinner Clint realized what ‘floor’ really entailed and was left stunned at where they would be living. 

He was looking the communal ‘den’ with sprawling floor space sparsely furnished with comfy looking couches and chairs and the biggest TV Clint had ever seen. Phil squeezed his shoulder on their way down to the range, Clint hyped up and almost skipping in his glee to see what masterpiece awaited but at the subtle request for his attention, Clint obediently paused and Coulson leaned down and spoke in his ear. 

“You’re looking a little wet, Clint.” 

Everything came to a screeching halt and all happiness was replaced by dread. He realized the accident just as suddenly and it was cold and uncomfortable which meant it wasn’t recent. Had the others noticed but were too polite to say? Clint hadn’t even known until Phil pointed it out and he hadn’t packed extra pull ups and neither had Phil. 

Tony, noticing the hold up, put his hands on his hips. 

“Something more interesting caught your eye? Because I’m telling you this is the best shooting range in the world.”

Clint was thinking of a lie, mind racing, but Phil said, “No just a quick bathroom break?”

“Oh, the closest one is down that hall.” Tony gestured lazily. 

Clint was sure they could see his tomato red face all the way in space and he tried to make himself as physically small as possible without getting Little. Phil corralled him down the hallway, past pieces of elaborate artwork he didn’t doubt were authentic. The whole place was beautiful and Clint… Clint had pissed himself even though he was Big. To make matters worse he had resisted wearing the pull up because he swore he wouldn’t need it. 

The bathroom was nicer than the ones Clint had seen even in the fancy hotels. Everything lit up in soft lighting. It was clean and nice and Clint was gross. 

He let out small whimper that morphed into a stifled sob. “It’s okay Clint.”

“I-I said I didn’t need it.” Clint mumbled, humiliated. “I didn’t even realize until you told me.”

“You were distracted, little bird. It’s okay.”

“What if I get distracted again? I don’t have any-any…” Clint tried to remember his deep breathing, he tried to stay Big. “Daddy I don’t want them to know.”

“Oh, bug,” Phil knelt down and hugged him fiercely a moment. “Okay, well your pull is too wet to keep wearing. We can go home if you’d like and come back another day,” Clint shook his head immediately. He had to see his new Home and the range. “We can see if there is anything here?”

Clint was alarmed and Phil caught his face tenderly as he began to shake it no. “Things have already started being moved in and Steve and I made sure there was something here for you in case something happened during training. I’m just not certain where Steve has them placed.”

Clint wasn’t sure when his thumb found its way into his mouth but it felt too nice too take it out. 

“Does Tony know?” Clint would never get treated seriously if they knew he had an accident while Big. He felt pathetic. 

“As far as I’m aware, Tony doesn’t know and he doesn’t need to know unless you decide you want to tell him. There’s no reason he should find out.”

Clint sniffled and bobbed his head. “Find one here,” he chose.

“Okay. I’m going to ask JARVIS. Do you remember what Tony said about it?”

“It’s an eye.” Clint slurred around his thumb. 

“An AI,” Daddy corrected, gently taking his thumb mouth. “It runs the whole house and even though Tony made it, doesn’t mean that what it sees or we ask it goes back him. There are lots of privacy rules Tony follows and he will never know what we do on our floor.”

“‘kay,” Clint hadn’t even thought about the cameras seeing his diaper but now at least he knew he’d be safe from being found out now. “‘s itchy Daddy.”

“Jarvis, do you know where Steve keeps pull ups or diapers?”

Clint flinched a bit at the response. It sounded like a real person, not at all like a machine. “The Captain has left both options beneath the left cupboard in the linen room on your floor. Shall I have one couriered to you?”

Clint shook his head immediately. He didn’t want anyone else knowing. “No thank you, we’ll get it ourselves.”

“I am pleased to assist and on behalf of the occupants here we welcome you.” 

Once Clint was dry he felt Big, or at least passable as such. If the team had noticed their extended absence and detour (which they definitely did because they were spies) they were kind enough not to say. Plus Clint had a hard time being bashful and ashamed when he was gaping at the sheer side of the range and the display of weapons. 

“Just because I’m not still dealing weapons, doesn’t mean I don’t dabble.” Tony said proudly. “Grab one and check this out.”

Clint hesitated at the sheer options presented to him in a lit up display. Some of the long range weaponry was foreign to even him, no doubt Stark Industries designs. He caved and grabbed a high tech bow. Natasha cussed in Russian and Tony grinned triumphantly. 

“Told you so. I expect you to pay up Romanoff.” 

Clint was still a bit peeved with her, or at least smarting from her remarks earlier but mustered a look of a surprise. “When have I ever turned down a bow?”

“I thought you’d pick that one,” she gestured to a little canister that he had thought was part of the sniper resting above it. 

“Wait, that’s a bow?”

“Technical foul,” Tony held his hands up in a ‘stop’ motion. “I demand a ref intervene. She is cheating.”

Clint’s interest was piqued and he gingerly set the high tech one back and picked up the canister. It was slim, like a can of fancy mineral water but dense. “How does it work?” He peered closer at it, running his finger tips around the slight grooving in the middle.

Suddenly thin rays of purple illuminated along the subtle ridges in the grove. “Hold your arm out a bit and shake.” Tony sounded delighted.

Clint glanced warily at Phil who’s lips were pursed. He didn’t seem particularly keen at the surprise weaponry. Regardless Clint held his arm out and flicked his wrist up and down once. There was practically no movement from the canister, no vibrations or sound as it morphed out into a bow. 

“Holy shit,” Clint breathed.

“Nanotechnology.” Tony replied with a grin. “Coulson look away, this is not for SHIELD eyes.”

“I am the Avengers liaison now, Tony. Though last I heard you were just playing with nanotech, not creating weapons.” Clint knew that voice: disapproving Tony gently. “I imagine you’ll be integrating that to the suit?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.” Tony replied gleefully. “Barton, it’s programmed for your prints alone. If you run your index finger along the hold there you’ll get to see the best part of this.”

Clint couldn’t fathom what could be better than a bow that collapsed and opened at those speeds, with that level of stealth and only responded to his hands. But as the arrow seemed to literally bleed from canister, he admitted he was wrong. “Nano-arrows,” Tony was grinning broadly.

Clint ran his hands over it to verify it was real. It felt real, the tip sharp enough to cause blood to bead on his thumb when he ran it over it. “Careful,” Tony said immediately and Clint drew back some, spirits dampened by the unusual reaction.

Tony caught himself and gave him a faux mega-watt smile. “They’re sharp, Barton.”

“I’m aware, thanks. I was trying to see how sharp.” He licked the blood away and Phil frowned. “Can I try it?”

“Are you kidding me? Just wait until you see what happens.”

“Tony,” Steve began. “I don’t know safe it is.”

“I fixed that issue ages ago, Rogers. Don’t worry about him Clint. C’mere.”

Phil made a small noise of objection and Clint hesitated before he glanced back at him. “I’ll be fine.” He assured them. “Don’t baby me.”

Clint thought he saw Natasha smile but it was gone so quickly he couldn’t be certain. He stood in front of the target and nocked a nano-arrow at the target. It was a perfect shot, which wasn’t at all unexpected, but then the arrow was trembling and a golf-ball sized silver hued ball was flying back at him. Clint yelped and dunked and the ball melted into the canister harmlessly, not even a tremor passing through the bow. He felt foolish hunkered near the ground as he looked at the bow with newfound wonder. 

“Forget boomerang arrows, just having one is much better.” Tony grinned. “Response time could be better — I’m working on cutting it down.”

“Just last week the arrows themselves were multiplying and coming back at you,” Steve cut in. “Maybe don’t play with it?”

“You, my friend, do not understand the benefit of risk.” Tony crosses his arms and looked at Clint who was getting back to his feet. “So? What’d you think?”

“This is awesome!” Clint glanced at Phil who seemed startled by Steve’s comment still. “This is would be so useful in the field.”

“Maybe,” Phil said shortly. “After R&D can assure it’s safe.”

“SI will assure it’s safe, Agent Agent.” Tony retorted. “Anyway, Natasha you still owe me.”

“This is so cool,” Clint said again. “Thanks Tony.”

“Trust me if it’d taken any significant effort I wouldn’t have done it.” Tony deflected immediately and Clint was struck the strangest urge to hug the man. He wouldn’t of course, Tony wasn’t a touchy person and neither was Clint when he was Big. “Anyway, I gotta go. Pepper should be calling me soon from Nepal. Welcome to your new home guys, go poke around your space or whatever. Natasha, I accept all major credit cards or unmarked bills.”

Natasha bore her teeth in a way that was less a smile and more a leer. 

“Oh you’ll get your money alright Stark.” 

He didn’t seemed phased and Steve smiled a little. They had inside jokes that Clint didn’t know it seemed. Bruce had left after dinner and Natasha and Steve went down to the gym leaving Clint and Phil to take a better look around their floor. It was easily three times the sizes of their apartment with four bedrooms which seemed excessive. 

“What’re we gonna do with all this space?”

“Well we’ll have our room and your room when you’re Little,” Clint flushed a bit glancing around anxiously as if the AI would materialize and laugh at him. That didn’t end up happening. “And I’m close enough to headquarters that I can already imagine Nick will take advantage. How would you feel about an office?”

“Do I have to use it?” Clint asked warily.

“Of course not. And that doesn’t mean home stuff will interlap with work stuff either. I promise that won’t happen.” Clint did have a twinge of anxiety at the idea of Phil working all the time and not having time for him. He pushed that thought away. “And the last room could be a playroom? Keep your toys contained...maybe get some more?”

Clint flushed. “Er, I dunno.” He did of course; he always wanted to ask but he couldn’t. If he was greedy he wouldn’t get a damn thing, his parents taught him that early on. 

“Okay well, we can look and see.”

Phil squeezed his hand and Clint didn’t realized he’d grabbed onto it. The pressure felt nice and soothing.

“It’s big.” He said again, looking warily at the wall in what would be a living room that was just floor to ceiling windows. The city was glimmering below and it was pretty but it was new and foreign to him. “It’s nice of Tony to still want me here.”

“Stop that,” Phil said firmly. “You are a treat to have around, Clint. Big or Little everyone loves you.”

“Except Sitwell,” Clint pointed out and Phil offered a small thin smile.

“Jasper doesn’t dislike you,” Phil corrected. “You two got off on a very bad foot and I haven’t done enough to fix that.”

Clint had to laugh. “I don’t think you can patch up how awful of an asset I was for him.” Clint nudged him. “In fact, I think all my past handlers pretty much hate my guts.”

“They do not. Requesting a transfer does not mean they don’t like you, it just means you were not working well together. Either way, we ended up together and that certainly for the best.” 

Clint rested his head on Phil’s shoulder. “Yeah it is. D’ya think I could hang out with Steve more or is that...weird?” 

Clint blanched at bit at his own impromptu question. He felt like he had jumped from his sniper’s nest and this was the freefall. He expected Phil jerk away and seem hurt, wounded maybe, but he just smiled easily and nodded his head. “I’m certain he’d love that, Clint. Especially on those weekends when I have to work.”

Clint’s cheek colored. Yeah, those weekends always sucked because he had to be Big during the day even though he really didn’t want to. And then Phil seemed so tired Clint tried to keep that part of him at bay to avoid overworking him. 

“It wouldn’t bother you?”

Phil kissed his forehead. “I love you Clint and even though I want to hide you away and keep you to myself I know that it’s not exactly possible.” Clint’s cheeks warmed at how wanted Phil made him feel. Phil loved Clint for this part of himself that he considered a flaw. “I know that Steve would adore spending more time with you, as will everyone else.”

Clint gulped. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“And that’s perfectly fine too. We’ll make sure Steve’s okay with it but I highly doubt he’ll have any objections.” Phil looked around the space. “But you’re right Clint, it is big.”

“Guess you’ll have to get more stuff.”

“We,” corrected Phil. “And we most certainly will.”

[ oOo oOo ]

At Home things were already different. Phil and Clint were busy trying to pack up which was awful in every way and Clint kept getting stuck in the in-between place even though he and Phil were not sure why he was reacting as neither Big or Little,

“Blanket is going to get lost. Can’t I just...hold onto it?” Clint complained as Phil held open the last box from packing up Little Clint’s room. 

Clint had thought he’d end up Little but like every other night he was stuck with swirling emotions that were both and somehow neither. Clint had to appreciate the patience extended to him because he knew he was maybe being difficult. An in between headspace made Clint more irritable and much less likely to want to help and make things easier. Clint was often frustrated at himself for not being able to settle somewhere and that upset was taken out on Phil, blessedly, was unaffected by Clint’s piss poor attitude.

“Moving is kind of scary isn’t it?” Phil asked, setting the box down. He sat on the floor beside Clint even though they both knew there was so much to do tonight. “It’s hard when a place that is home is suddenly changing.”

Clint was slumped against the wall, limbs sprawling out in a sort of post-tantrum pose (he hadn’t had a tantrum, just sort of ‘humphed’ and collapsed there after putting Chirp in the box, hating how empty his room was). In a way he had expected this to happen one day. Clint fully expected Phil would tire of him or SHIELD would decide he wasn't worth the effort and just toss him out. That wasn’t the case now but it didn’t make things easier. 

Clint wrapped his arms around himself. He didn’t know how to explain that it felt like they were getting ready to run and...what if Daddy left Clint behind? Barney had and he promised he wouldn’t. Phil said he loved him but Barney had said that too. 

“I dunno.” 

Clint rested his forehead against his knees. He felt petulant and scared all at once. Clint wanted his toys back where they belonged and he wanted his shower stuff out on the shelves because he had bought them at the store with his own money. He didn’t want to take showers somewhere new or sleep in a bed where the window wasn’t right above the bed frame so he could see the moonlight at night and the sun in the morning. 

“It’s okay to be scared Clint. It’s okay to be comfortable here and be worried about living somewhere different. I’m worried.” Phil admitted and tucked Clint’s body against his side. The Little melted into the embrace. Phil always knew, it was like he could read minds. “You were so excited earlier remember? Steve was going to have a movie weekend when I go to that meeting in Tanzania. Do you mind telling me what’s got you feeling down?”

Clint whimpered, feeling a bit more Little while Daddy held so tight. “I’m… I don’t wanna be forgotted .” Clint mumbled. “I want home.”

Phil squeezed him tightly and Clint felt some tension slipping away. “This has been our home for a while, hm little bird? Four years.”

“Four years,” Clint whispered and then sniffled. 

Four years coming back to the same place. It was always there, always waiting. He was safe here, Daddy was here. What if the Tower was not Home? What if his things were not right there? He had things now and loved them (not as much as he loved Daddy but still). 

“Four years,” agreed Daddy. “You know what makes this place home?”

“We live here.” 

Phil laughed softly and kissed his forehead. 

“That’s very true, my clever little Clint. But living somewhere is only part of what makes it Home. Do you know what the other part is?”

“Nuhuh.” Clint was loosening up a bit, curling into Phil rather than himself. 

“Me and you, little bird. That’s what makes it Home. And I could never, ever leave you behind. You’re a part of me Clint and I love you so, so much.”

Barney never said that. 

Clint hummed happily as he pressed closer. 

“I love you too Daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed please let me know! 
> 
> I know there wasn’t a ton of little!clint in this particular story but the next part will feature that more heavily. Less drama more fluff :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it, I hope to have the next chapter out soon. Please let me know what you thought.


End file.
